


Regaining Herself

by SrebrnaFH



Series: Regaining Herself - series [1]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternative Timeline, And then it got complicated, Charles should have known better, Cute, Dark, Everyone obeys Moira, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Headaches & Migraines, Hospital, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Miscarriage, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Other, Polyamory, Post X-Men: First Class, Rating not for sex but for mature topics, X-Files Cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:57:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 67,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: Three-part story:Pictures in the Wind - Moira starts regaining her memory (while plagued with headaches) and Charles tries to keep the school working with just Hank to help him (while plagued with headaches)Scenes in Darkness - Moira finds the school and Charles learns how to grovel properlyLiving in Daylight - not the Happily Ever After they wished for, but all their friends are there.(I'm a firm Moira fan, as you may guess)





	1. Pictures in the Wind: Moira, Memories

**Author's Note:**

> AU after First Class. There will be some divergence from canon solutions (because canon in x-men is so complicated I can't even deal with it, and also, because I said so).  
> I really like Moira, and the way she is underutilised in the movies makes me sad. Also, on completely personal level, what Charles did was a dick move, so I decided to give her a little story where she is more.
> 
> (small note: I'm not a native English speaker, so if I manage to mix up UK/US - which here should be US, unless it's Charles talking - please feel free to point it out in the comments; I love concrit and I'm happy to correct my text :))
> 
> This was posted on FFNet already, so I'll be posting a chapter every 2-3 days until the status here catches up with what is there. And then it will be as often as I manage to write.

**Pictures in the Wind**

**Moira, Memories**

Moira MacTaggert sat in front of an enormous sheet of paper and tried to catch the memory that was floating, teasingly, just on the outskirts of her brain.  
Moira MacTaggert was quite ready to choke Charles Xavier to death with her bare hands. Or kiss him and then kill him. Or just...  
She inhaled carefully.  
Her head throbbed, threats of later sickness quite clear. The picture slowly regained focus.  
_It was a beach. She was sitting on the sand, looking up at someone in a weirdly shaped helmet. He was talking, but she didn't hear the words. There was the feeling of someone else being asked for a reaction._  
She grabbed a pencil and quickly drafted the picture before it disappeared from her mind.

Whatever else Charles Xavier - damn him to eternal pain - had done, he apparently must have triggered some until now unused part of her brain, resulting in a handy new talent of Moira's. Drawing was really useful when your memories came and went in waves, mostly static pictures of people, places, and objects.

She rose and surveyed the paper nailed to her bedroom wall carefully.  
Beach. That means probably Cuba, so it goes together with the missiles and the broken radio.  
She pinned the newest picture next to one she called 'sky of weapons' and a short description of the feeling of dread she had coming whenever she thought of a radio failing.  
The sheet was covered with time markings, main milestones and arrows linking elements together. It was her memory. External one. The memory which Charles Xavier - she was quite sure it had been him, insufferable man - had taken away from her.

Just thinking about it gave her headache, but she decided to sit down and wait it out today instead of escaping into morphine she had quietly stored for such occasions. She hoped, deep down, that whenever she hurts, he does, too. Even deeper down she actually didn't wish it. She wished to snog his stupid round face so soundly he would be left speechless.  
These wishes were dangerous. They made her lose her control and balance.  
This time, however, Moira dived into it, reveled in the fleeting sensation of his lips on hers, the slight, unnatural movement of his body in... in a wheelchair?!  
Her eyes snapped open.  
He was in a wheelchair. It all suddenly made sense. The sitting in the sand - she must have been holding him, lying down. Hurt? Wounded? Him being much shorter than he was supposed to be. He must have been sitting in the wheelchair in most of these scenes.  
Slowly she drew a wheelchair and a man's figure in it, slightly slouching. With careful strokes, she gave him the right profile, the nose, slightly longish hair, round eyes. She bit her lip and drew herself at the handles.  
Pinning the picture at the end of her timeline she surveyed the whole. It wasn't everything, it wasn't even half. But it was enough to track all that happened in the "white period" of her memory. She knew what happened around the beach from recordings the navy made. She could extrapolate and patch together what wasn't in the recordings - exact dealings between people.  
Erik, Raven, Angel. The red-skinned teleporter. The tornado one.  
Charles, Hank, Banshee, Havok. She wasn't exactly sure which were names and which were nicknames, but she would finally get it, or she wasn't Moira MacTaggert

 


	2. Charles, Migraines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will just post them one by one when I have time :)

**Pictures in the Wind**

**Charles, Migraines**

Charles Xavier really hated migraines.  
Not only were they affecting his ability to read others, but they also tended to leak and put a general dampener on everyone's moods. At the same time they affected his shields and made him very suspectible to whatever others were thinking and feeling. In total, very bad combination for a thirty-something old man living in a house full of hormonal and very volatile teenagers. Even the drugs developed by Hank weren't helping, or at least they weren't helping with everything.  
He was lying down on the blanket covering his bed and he didn't have even enough energy to roll himself under the covers and try to sleep it off. Instead he stared at the ceiling, focusing on his breathing and the throbbing in his head.  
Each breath, new, tiny stab of pain.  
Each breath, his eyes felt like stuck with needles.  
He probably deserved it.  
After all he used his brilliant, gifted mind to take away a part of someone's life. Not an enemy. Not an attacker. Not even a stranger. A woman who trusted him and probably more.  
He took away a part of her life and he deserved to feel lousy because of it.  
Sometimes he actually stared into direct sunlight on purpose, to feel himself punished properly. He knew he would never forgive himself, but when he did these things, he somehow felt better knowing that she isn't the only one suffering.  
He never said it made any sense.  
Sometimes he toyed with the idea of contacting her. Maybe just touching the surface, making sure she was ok.  
He never dared. He was afraid of finding out... Anything. He would not be happy if she was happy - it would mean she was happy without him. On the other hand, he would be devastated if she was unhappy, because anything that made Moira MacTaggert unhappy was hell to Charles Xavier.  
In this case, it was him. So he punished himself.  
When he wanted to deliver a particularly strong reminder of his faults, he recalled the kiss.  
_She trusted him and she never even expected._  
_She tasted of tea and vanilla cookies, her lips the softest thing he had ever kissed, her hair tickling his cheek. He touched a strand, raising his hand to his temple, and when the impulse from his brain travelled to hers, blocking everything, she was still kissing him, some tiny portion of her consciousness keeping control over that last action._  
_He tasted his tears on her lips and that was when she lost her balance and slowly sunk down, her head on his knees, her cheek on his palm, her eyes staring into nothingness as she slipped into the trance he put her in._  
He drew a shivery breath and wiped his eyes.  
Then he picked up the cane that fell next to the sofa and pulled his wheelchair closer so he could sit in it and again become the headmaster.  
Not even Alex dared to comment on his disappearance.


	3. Moira, Office

**Pictures in the Wind**

**Moira, Office**

Moira had gotten used to the glances.  
She had been allowed to stay in CIA - the agency didn't like to simply fire any people who knew way too much for the bosses' comfort. Allowed to stay didn't mean however staying on as a field agent, or anything even remotely as interesting. She was back to the typing pool, just like a threat from her past had predicted.  
Outcast from both groups.  
Other typists, secretaries and assistants gave her wide berth. She was the one that had tried to be better. She had been promoted. She had jumped out of the line. She had tried to be something more. They shunned her as a traitor to the female department.  
The field agents, now a solely male contingent, avoided her as scrupulously, as if the failed promotion was some kind of disease she could pass on to them. The cloud of bad luck was about her and nobody wanted to be caught talking to the "girl who forgot everything". Even the ones that admitted she probably did some good work during "the missile crisis" assiduously limited any interaction to "please, three copies, Miss MacTaggert" and "thank you for delivering this, Miss MacTaggert".  
Being stuck as neither fish nor fowl she should have probably left the agency on her own.  
She didn't care enough, though. It was a job, it paid for food and rent, and it was so uncomplicated it left her with a lot of time and brainpower to process her memories. She knew her way around the office and she never actually paid attention to anyone except for her direct boss. So she kept her focus on her memories, on her daily tasks and on being as unnoticed as someone of her - albeit local - fame ever could.  
For all the tasks - typing, correcting and taking notes - she used only small part of her brain. She had years of training in this and a particular ability to double-task effectively. Major portion of her consciousness was used to recover, collect and combine the splinters of memories that kept surfacing from time to time.  
During lunch she was usually left safely alone, so she ate the unappetizing special of the day slowly, but quietly and went back to her desk, retyping someone's report in four copies. She always said she was ideal notes taker - everything went from ears or eyes directly to the hands, no need to involve brain on the way. This way she could run the personal analysis and map the connections - which sometimes felt like putting together a giant, mixed up, imaginary jigsaw puzzle - when at the same time earning her living by transferring someone's stakeout notes to proper form and correct tenses.  
_People here really need to brush up on their grammar and spelling._  
She corrected a 'hole nite' to a 'whole night' and went back to her puzzle pieces.  
Charles Xavier was most definitely lying low somewhere nearby. Otherwise he wouldn't have needed to make her forget.  
He must have others with him. He would be hiding them. She must have seen them. He was keeping them safe by keeping her away.  
She bit her lip.  
If he hadn't cared about her, he could have gotten rid of her in many different ways. Instead he made her forget, made her safe, both for their and her sake, and from any side of the conflict. CIA understood she could give them nothing and if any other mutants got their hands on her, they wouldn't be able to pull anything meaningful from her memories either. Not that it would have saved her from the most inspired of them, but still it was something.  
What she could actually remember were flashes, sometimes single words or strings or incomprehensible technical explanations. There was the man who looked, but only sometimes, like a blue furry beast. Mostly he looked like a scrawny teenager, but both pictures overlapped.  
She could remember genetic theories, explained in that cultured voice and dreamy accent, words full of passion and fascination. Charles. She was sure it had been him, even though most of the memories of him even from before the attack on HQ were blurred.  
She could remember the other voice, much colder, black turtleneck and thin body, always almost shivering with hatred towards the world. Quite sure it was Eric, but as most of her focus had always been on Charles, the complete (or even partly usable) scenes with him were not that many, and the face was a somewhat hazy case.  
But what she remembered in full, in the greatest detail possible, was the very last moment she had with Charles. The day she recovered it, she cried in her bed from the soaring happiness that hurt so much.  
She remembered the glorious sweetness of their kiss, the sudden closeness and her little gasp the second their lips touched. He was so careful, she had thought at the moment, yet she felt he knew exactly what he was doing. She wanted to deepen the contact, maybe to reach and caress his tired, worried face when she felt his hand rise and she hoped he would be the one to touch her. Instead she felt the earth fall from under her feet and she her own body collapsing right there and then nothing.  
Moira liked recalling this part, because even though it was the exact end of their relationship - right before it could start - she knew, for sure, he must have cared for her. She remembered his "I know", laced with such sadness and sorrow. She was quite assured the separation he enforced couldn't have been easy for him either.  
Also, it gave her fury enough food to keep her going and force her to complete her investigation of her own brain. She just couldn't give up before letting him know what she thought about him.  
She sighed quietly, trying not to draw anyone's attention. Work was finished for today, papers stacked, out-boxes filled, in-boxes mostly empty. Girls were leaving, filing one after another in the unconscious order of seniority the group had created internally. The order she used to be a part of, until she tried not to be.  
She picked up her things and put on the beige coat that made her blend with the crowd. Waiting for the last of her co-workers to leave, she was the one to turn off the lights and so had to wait for the elevator and ride down by herself.  
Outside the menacing building, in the stream of humanity hurrying to their different goals, she walked alone and alienated in her ultimate objective of regaining the control over her own mind and showing Charles Xavier that he would not get rid of her that easily.  
She licked her lips, hoping for some stray sensation to wake up, for a taste or smell of that day to come back.  
Not yet. But soon she would have the whole corner of her picture build and would move to the next big part.


	4. Charles, School

**Pictures in the Wind**

**Charles, School**

Charles' hair fell now down to his shoulders - and into his eyes - so he took to tying it back with random pieces of string or ribbon. Having finally settled on black silk, he felt a bit like an aristocrat from days long gone. At least the cut of his clothes was much more comfortable than those poor guys had had to wear.  
He half-heartedly attempted to keep up appearances even though it wasn't that easy to look elegant on the wheelchair. Also, sometimes he just couldn't make himself care enough. With no Erik or Moira, he had nobody around with the seniority required to push him to behave. If he thought too hard about the last time he actually dressed in something nice and felt it to be important, he had to shut himself in his office just to regain his balance and superficial calm.  
Every day he woke around dawn, managed his bath - using the bars installed by Hank and Sean - got dressed and started his day way before everyone else was up. His private kitchen was set up in such way that he could put together a reasonable meal by himself if he wanted to eat before the teachers' breakfast was served.  
He was in his office before anyone else could come knocking, up to his ears in papers - reviewing the applications, checking the documents and writing essays on the mutations of eye-related DNA.  
Meetings with students, meetings with parents, group lessons, individual lessons, students homesick, students just simply sick (not every mutation was beneficial to one's health). Each day full to the brim, each almost the same. Only sometimes, when the headache came, he allowed himself to postpone a lesson or two, retire to his private rooms and cut himself off from the entire world.  
The migraines came in waves - sometimes nothing for a time, sometimes three days in a row. When he got a week of lull, he knew well enough to fear for his own sanity during the next attack waiting around the corner to ambush him.  
The school grew around him. He managed, through network of trustworthy contacts, to recruit more teachers, or at least grown-up mutants with relatively interesting talents and potential to teach. He already had a surfeit of P.E. teachers and coaches, but couldn't find even one person willing to work as a simple administrator. Literature was also a problem, and he very much wished to provide the students with as good an education as possible, giving them the option to go to university or at least function in human society in relative peace.  
In a flash of inspiration he appointed Alex as the night duty coordinator, which gave him an hour or so sleep more as he handed over the evening review and stations assignment to the younger man.  
Hank, apart from doing his own research, was conducting maths and physics classes, occasionally taking the most promising pupils to his lab and giving them some part of the research to follow.  
Placing Sean was his last great problem. Kid wasn't old enough yet to be a teacher, but he couldn't fit into a class with even the eldest form. The solution would have been two years at normal human university, if only Sean's face hadn't been printed and pinned at every police station as 'wanted'.  
He would have happily delegated this painful task to someone else. But with nobody available he simply hunched his shoulders more, pushed the wheelchair onwards and hoped to survive the next big crisis the world was going to throw at them.


	5. Moira, Everyday

**Pictures in the Wind**

**Moira, Everyday**

Moira knew her absentmindedness had been noticed.  
The girls never bothered to stop their gossiping anymore. When she passed by them, they just watched her carefully and yapped happily about whatever current office scandal cropped up. The men left more and more documents queued at her desk, which forced her to introduce a document counting and tracking system with the usage of some hanging folders in her bigger locker drawer and generous application of paperclips.  
Even when the director came visiting, she managed to maintain her pose and affect a lack of concern.  
Every day she typed, brewed coffee, typed some more and then ran, as fast as they could, away from the oppressive feeling of someone being right there, just behind her, and watching her every move.  
She didn't know if one could get infected with paranoia, but she had the feeling that Charles' fear of discovery might have left some traces in her mind. She changed the way she dressed, almost immediately after returning to work. Gray, beige, olive green ruled in her wardrobe now, all things purple, yellow and otherwise colourful packed away. She was as boring as could be. Her hair was tied away, her makeup nonexistent, jewellery left at home.  
It had all failed anyway. Someone was observing her and she couldn't shake the feeling that all her efforts to blend in with the walls might have given them even more reason to be wary of her.  
More typing. An inconsequential meeting, or two. Some filing. Even more filing, after she found out somebody had mislabelled a huge box of evidence. More typing.  
Going home in her tiny, slightly beat-up car she tried tracking other vehicles around her, looking for the one potentially tailing her. She never found it, but the pricking of skin on the back of her neck never went away.  
She had to take a day off, now and then, due to the memories flooding her and the blinding headaches that accompanied them. Fortunately for her, no CIA doctor could reasonably argue against the idea that the telepath messing up with her brain had actually broken something, so the headaches were, albeit reluctantly, treated as a work-related injury and so, under the agency's regulations (very, very obscure ones she dug up with a lot of effort) she was entitled to a half or full day off for medical reasons, as needed. This affected her pay, but she preferred less money to sitting in the din of the office with the needles of pain striking her eyes every time she moved.  
Usually the "pain days" would be spaced out, on average one or two a week, out of which only every fifth or sixth required her to avoid society. A few times she was hit with a two-day ramp-up and a crowning, vomit-inducing pain at the end. Considering that one of these occurred on a office "outing event" and everyone saw her avoiding alcohol, nobody dared to suggest hangover, which helped her public image a bit.  
However, in the long run, it wasn't actually helping her. Had these been hangovers, she would have at least been able to avoid the alcohol, but things being what they were she simply didn't know what to avoid. Considering however that each of these left her with at least a tiny piece of new-old memories, she put them in the category of "it's an ill wind that blows no good" and learned to organise her life around them.  
What she was most worried about was that someone would put together the facts, plus whoever was tailing her finally would break into her flat and she would be forced to admit that her memory loss was, in fact, not that permanent after all.  
She really didn't want CIA to find where Charles' school was.  
She even less wanted to be the one to betray this fact to them, but that was what her mind-mapping project on the wall pronounced to anyone who would have been able to see it.  
CIA would have been very, very surprised to find the hideout of mutants in Westchester.


	6. Charles, Exhaustion

**Pictures in the Wind**

**Charles, Exhaustion**

Charles was tired most of the time. Tired enough to space out in the middle of a conversation.  
He tried to hide it, as much as he could. He didn't want Hank to notice his lack of attention to the school security project lately, but apparently Beast had much better human reading skills than Hank used to sport. Probably heightened sense of smell helped, or at least that was what he told himself. The option that his state was becoming desperate he tried to avoid admitting as a possibility.  
Hank knew better, and his human reading skill had, in fact, progressed significantly. However it was mostly the Professor's wandering attention that tipped him to the fact that his friend wasn't in the best condition.  
That was why at some point, one busy summer day the Professor found himself gently, but firmly, wheeled out of his office, down the corridor, past his room and out to the terrace. A table was placed next to him and a pot of tea served by someone from the school staff. A blanket, a book and a plate of toast later he was left alone in the open with the stern order from his doctor-cum-engineer to not come back inside until he had read at least a third of the book.  
At least they gave him something good to read. He had always loved Greek mythology.  
When Hank appeared with the sunset, Charles was soundly asleep. The book had fallen from his lap, the tea was cold and the last piece of toast had curled up, cold and dry in the evening air. Beast popped it in his mouth, crunching on the crust as he pushed the wheelchair back towards his friend's private apartment.  
Charles woke up in his bed and with no memory of having ever moved from the terrace.  
He never questioned Hank about that evening and Hank never mentioned it himself.  
He tried cutting down the hours spent in the office, but failed miserably. He tried skipping some meetings and reviews, but he felt he was required.  
He never even tried reducing his lesson hours.  
The migraines were back in three days and the evening was forgotten, barring the occasional stirring of need for a quiet nap in cold air.  
There were seven meetings on his calendar that particular fall Tuesday. With the school year just starting, they had known they should expect a wave of parents coming. Younger talents usually manifested in stressful situations, and start of school was one of the main reasons for early breakthroughs.  
Each meeting was with a pair of parents and a child, each demanding his full attention and focus, each making his teeth grind harder as the parents demanded explanation, tried just to leave the child and run away as fast as they could, outright accused him of making their kid 'so' and threatened with FBI, CIA and several other nasty acronyms if he didn't fix the kid, right here, right now.  
After the last child was successfully admitted and the parents left, somehow astounded by his terse manner, he slumped over his desk and squeezed his aching eyes shut. Two tiny tears run down his face as he tried to control his breathing.  
A door banged open somewhere in the house.  
The bolt of white pain through his temples made him dry-heave and his body curl in a spasm.  
In panic, he could only think about avoiding hitting the edge of the desk with his forehead. He didn't need a brain injury added to the whole situation.  
He threw his head back in an attempt to loosen the muscles and was rewarded by returning to slightly more upright position. He managed to pull himself closer to the desk, pushed the button to Hank's office and slowly rested his cheek on the cold glassy surface.  
Hank arrived before he could ever pick up the phone, as he had already been on his way when the students started going pale and nauseous.  
He picked up his friend and mentor and carried him to his bed, worried about this being something he, for once, couldn't fix.


	7. Moira, Luck

**Pictures in the Wind**

**Moira, Luck**

She saw the mansion on her way to the car garage her friend suggested. Supposedly the man there weren't dismissive of "dizzy ladies" like most other mechanics. She knew there was something wrong with her "girly" small car - the engine was not supposed to make noises like this - but nobody wanted to have a look at it. She needed to get it checked before it broke down in some inconvenient place.  
She was driving past a very nice neighbourhood, counting numbers, when a sight simply ambushed her.  
A huge satellite dish.  
Her head turned of its own volition and she saw it.  
The square-ish, castle-like stone and mortar mansion.  
She squeezed the wheel so hard she felt her gloves rip.  
Someone stepped from between the parked cars and she kicked the brake, stopping awkwardly at an angle in the middle of the lane.  
She breathed a few times, trying to calm herself and make the ringing in her ears go away. When another driver honked their horn just behind her she jumped in her seat and started the car again. She focused on finding a parking space now. She simply had to take a moment and process what had just happened.  
She managed to find a slot just for her tiny car just in time, seconds before the flood of memories hit her, accompanied with an ensemble of migraine symptoms, from ear-ringing, to a stomach ache, to a blinding flash of pain behind her eyes.  
Waking up she noticed the sun had moved significantly. Also, she hadn't turned off the lights so they were now slightly yellow and she probably had next to no chance of starting the car.  
She sipped some tea from her travel flask and did a few breathing exercises she learned in her agent training. Nobody probably ever expected them to be used after a sudden memory flood shuts down one's brain, but they worked all the same.  
She opened the car door, picked up her handbag, locked the car securely and started the short trek across carefully manicured lawn and towards the main gate.  
The freshly reopened corner of her mind served her with a crystal clear memory of the lamest pick-up line she had ever heard. She succumbed to a minute - or two - of giggling, as she leaned on the gatepost, but the front door opened and the now familiar, thin and pale face of Alex Summers emerged to regard her in utter surprise.


	8. Charles, Awareness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part: "Scenes in Darkness"

**Scenes in Darkness**

**Charles, Awareness**

The room was quiet and he could feel a cold compress on his forehead and wet cloth covering his eyes.  
When he tried moving, a thick cover almost immobilised him.  
'Shh' he heard, and a cool hand touched his face, taking away the compress and replacing it with a fresh one. 'Shh.'

He woke again in darkness, which - he had to admit - was very good for his eyes. There was someone with him in the room, a tired yet awake consciousness unknowingly touching his weakened barriers, but he couldn't even hope to check who it was, as his head was splitting with pain whenever he tried to focus.  
'Shh' the voice again, the voice that should not be there.  
A bit of something wet against his lips. A stick wrapped with cotton wool, soaked.  
It was slowly tracing his lips and then he was finally allowed to suck a few drops of water from it.  
Felt like heaven. Only once before had he tasted something as sweet.  
He really hoped for more, but from what he could remember, he could have hurt himself and they probably couldn't actually feed him for some reason.  
'I... Mm...' he managed to utter.  
'Shh' the woman's voice and a cool palm on his cheek.  
He could stay like this for a bit longer, now that he thought of it.

Darkness again. No longer feeling as if his eyes were on fire, he was still thankful for the cold cloth covering them. Still, he wanted to see. He motioned to remove it, but someone stopped his hand.  
'Let me turn off the lights' he heard Hank's rumble. 'No way I'm experimenting with your eyes.'  
He hesitated.  
'Where is she?'  
Hank rose and flipped the light switch to off.  
'At home, getting her stuff packed' he answered simply, sitting closer to the bed.  
Charles pulled the wet cloth away and rose on his elbows, his head light and vision slightly swimming, effect in total rather nauseating.  
'What? When...?'  
'She had to go today - some research materials she really didn't want CIA finding. And to pick up a change of clothes.'  
He wetted a piece of towel in ice water and handed it to Charles.  
'What kind of...?' Charles furrowed his brow and tried to put together a whole thought. 'Why not someone else...?'  
'And what, they would pack her undies for her?' he snorted. 'I didn't send her alone, Charles, give me a little credit. I may be a big blue antisocial weirdo, but I'm not that stupid. She has Alex with her. I made him dress appropriately so they don't attract attention. Also, she will drop by her office and hand in her notice.'  
Charles squinted.  
'Why? Why CIA?'  
He felt somewhat slow, unable to keep up with Hank's revelations. His friend sighed and took off his glasses.  
'For one, they are still a bit leery about her. Second, she _did_ fall off the face of Earth for three days without warning. That would be enough for them to break into her apartment. At least she told me where she had left her car and we could pick it up before someone noticed.'  
Charles sighed too. At least someone was thinking about all the details.  
'What kind of research?' he asked again, feeling kind of apprehensive due to Hank's avoidance of the subject.  
The blue engineer gave him a stern look.  
'The kind that makes me wish you were on your feet so that I could smack you on the head. Idiot. We have a few things to discuss, Charles. First of them being you taking away _Moira MacTaggert's_ memories. Which is why she's gone back - for all of her notes regarding us. Well, mostly you."  
Charles squeezed his eyes shut, trying to process what Hank had just told him. Something hit the blanket he was covered with.  
'I think you will need this. Alex left it for you.'  
His eyes snapped open and he regarded the object in his lap in confusion.  
The front of a prettily printed page read "Summer's Guide to Grovelling - Beginners Level". He turned it and studied the contents of the other side.  
 _1\. Say 'sorry' a lot._  
 _2\. Mean it._  
 _3\. Say 'sorry' even more and then say 'love' in appropriate places._  
 ** _4\. Mean it._**  
 _5\. If doesn't work, go to point 1._  
Repeat until successful.

The room was dim, voices in the corridor subdued. He breathed in, slowly, then tried sending a small trace, just to check who could be around. Before he could focus, something touched his temple, surprising him out of his concentration.  
'Do not even _try_ ' she said calmly. 'Or, sick or no, I'll hit you straight into the next stage of evolution.'  
Apparently everyone was quite eager to deal physically with him.  
He decided to risk a look.  
She was sitting there, wrapped in a blanket, body masked by a too-wide jumper, face looking slightly thinner than what he remembered.  
He reached towards her, missing her outstretched hand, his palm landing on her knee. Actual, living flesh, even if covered with jersey.  
'You're here' he whispered, blinking.


	9. Hank, Control

**Scenes in Darkness**

**Hank, Control**

Charles flailed in his sleep, hands searching for her hand, coming up empty. He shot up, covered in cold sweat, breathing short.  
Hank calmly bookmarked the place in his novel and handed him a cup of tea.  
'Where is she?' he managed to croak out. 'She was here when I fell asleep.'  
'I kicked her out' Hank didn't sound apologetic.  
'What?' Charles pulled himself up with an effort. 'Why? I...'  
Beast grinned and tapped his nose.  
'You, Charles, are one stinky, filthy telepath. And I'm not risking Moira MacTaggert leaving us again because you decided to go medieval on your hygiene. You are lucky I can block my nose, or you'd have woken up quite alone.'  
'I'm not...!' Charles started, but he caught the view of his t-shirt, badly stained with... stuff. 'Oh.'  
'Yes, oh. Now you are off to bath and I'll air the room and strip the bed.'  
'Hank?'  
The young scientist raised blue brows.  
'How long...?'  
'It's been two weeks' was accompanied by a deep sigh. 'You've collapsed in your office and, from what I could see, had a seizure. The first thing I did was to bring you in here. I... I was worried' he sat on the edge of the bed. 'I couldn't call in any human doctor, and my expertise is more in organisms that fit in a test tube. I learned my lesson about healing actual real people, didn't I?' he smiled crookedly. 'You've had high temperature for a few days, and you were projecting random stuff all around the sleeping quarters. Fortunately the staff are more or less adjusted already. When I managed to get your temp down, we've kept your room darkened because you kept moaning each time you opened your eyes. I assumed you have headaches, so I...' he sighed. 'And then she came and organised everything properly.'  
He nodded slowly, following Hank's recitation.  
'Moira... She's well?' he asked finally, after a minute or two of silence.  
Hank shrugged, fur on his arms making a gentle wave.  
'I hope so. She says... she will probably tell you the whole story, but the long and short is she recalls most of what happened. That was kind of a surprise for me, because you've never told us she would lose her memories. I'm quite a bit angry with you for that, you know.'  
He rubbed his face tiredly.  
'I do, Hank, I do. I really hope she gives me a chance to grovel properly. Last time I saw her I managed to touch her and fall asleep the same second.'  
'And I thought I was awkward... Well. _Professor_. You are now off to the bathroom, and if I have to carry you, I will.'  
He hastily drew up on his hands and, using the bar on the wall, switched to the wheelchair. Stripping the t-shirt off and throwing it in the laundry basket was a matter of seconds and he felt better already. Pants and socks were, of course, a bit more difficult, but after all these months he had significant amount of practice.  
From the bedroom he heard Hank wrestling with the bed covers and felt a pang of conscience about having one of his students - friends - take care of his room, and specifically bed. Until now he managed it all himself, with a bit of hard work, but without having to ask any of his friends for assistance.  
'I'm thinking we should get some household staff' he suggested, soaping his face. 'I'm quite sure there are some mutants out there that would like a pleasant, quiet job like this.'  
'Pleasant' Hank scoffed.  
'Quiet. It will be only us and more kids. No wild parties, no guests, no big things to clean after.'  
He put away the razor, washed off the remnants of the soap and regarded himself in the mirror. He had certainly changed since that evening in the pub. _Much more muscle up here_ he kneaded his now well-sculpted arm _and much less down there_ he glanced at his thinning legs in dismay. _Can't be helped. I just hope she..._  
'You ok there, Charles?' Hank knocked on the door frame.  
'Yes, yes. Everything is perfect. Just daydreaming, I guess.'  
He wheeled himself over to the tub.  
'Call me if you need anything.'  
The tub was a custom-made marvel of construction, all according to his exact specifications. Edges slightly lower than the norm to enable him to get in and out with minimum effort, handles and bars built into the wall by his friends, even holders for soap and shampoo were affixed in easy to reach places.  
He washed quickly, paying attention to his hair, which - he had to admit - was becoming rather grimy, and hoped quietly that Moira would be coming back soon as he was becoming quite sleepy. He tried rising to the chair, but his arms wobbled suddenly.  
'Ah, Hank?'  
'Charles?'  
'Would you be so kind as to give me a hand? I'd need the towel I've left by the sink, too.'  
The younger man entered awkwardly and handed him the required object.  
'Now, please, take another one from the shelf to your left an spread it on the wheelchair. And' he steeled himself 'if you could assist me with getting out of here...'  
Hank sighed and approached the tub, exhaling in relief when he saw Charles already wrapped in a towel.

'I've really let myself go soft, haven't I?' the older man said sadly, grabbing another towel and drying his hair vigorously with it, then leaned back in the wheelchair.  
'We could probably set up some exercise area for you' Hank suggested uncertainly. 'You'd be able to build up more muscle that way.'  
He started to protest, but one look at the bed stopped him. If he ever wanted to...  
'Actually I think it's a brilliant idea, my friend. I think we still have a few unused rooms on the ground floor. We could convert the small sitting room, and the closet next to it could serve as bathroom. Could you ask Alex to help you with clearing it out? Everything should go to the attic and then we can order some carpeting, benches, weights, racks and so on. And call a plumber to make measurements for the showers, and ask who could make stalls.'  
He switched from the chair to the bed.  
'We could buy some more small equipment, and something to use outside, too. After all, everyone should exercise and simple running is not enough. Maybe, well, bikes? Jumping ropes? That thing with springs that you have to stretch? Footballs? Would any of you want to play cricket?'  
A wide yawn split his face.  
'We'll look into it tomorrow, Professor. Now, I think I should go and look for Miss Moira.'  
Hank's stern voice was contradicted by his slight smile.  
'You do that' Charles yawned again. 'You... make sure she has anything she needs. Is there a room free somewhere nearby? She could put all her things...' he mumbled, drifting away.  
'Don't worry' Hank smiled, turning off the lights. 'She is just next door.'


	10. Moira and Charles, Miscommunication

**Scenes in the Darkness**

**Moira and Charles, Miscommunication**

He looked at Moira, sleeping in the chair. His heart constricted with the kind of sweet pain he learned to associate with everything Moira. His memories, her memory, her trust, his betrayal. Her suddenly just being there, no explanation given.  
She looked incredibly uncomfortable, even with the travel pillow supporting her head. Her head was tipped back, her face lined with worry and stress. He felt the discomfort even without any telepathy applied.  
He licked his lips and focused on sitting up. Slowly, slowly he rose, feeling his hands tremble from effort.  
_I really must work on this once Hank sets up the gym_ he mused, rolling to the side, pushing his legs forward and off the bed _And, I suppose, I should eat something at last._ Finally he got close enough to touch her. He needed to touch her, to make sure she was actually there, in his room, in his old armchair. In her very non-office and non-business tank top and tracksuit pants and her hair in a low ponytail. Very domestic.  
He caught the armrest of the chair and pulled it towards him.  
She stirred and looked at him with confusion. The whole picture was so sweet, with her mussed hair and slightly unfocused eyes, that he pulled harder and the chair finally rolled and came to rest next to the bed.  
'Charles, what are you doing?' she squinted, tired, her voice full of suspicion.  
His arm encircled her waist and with one sharp movement he sat her on the bed and with the other, sent the chair away.  
'I'm getting you to sleep in a better position. This thing can't be good for your neck' he pulled the C-shaped pillow away and threw it in more or less the chair's direction. 'Here' he tipped his head to the other side of his bed. 'Please?'  
She regarded him calmly for several seconds, making him swallow in dread.  
'First' she finally said 'you are getting back under these covers. Scoot."  
He obediently moved back, supporting himself on his hands, legs dragging. He never hated his legs more than at that moment. She however stood up and matter-of-factly pulled them onto the bed and covered with the quilt he only minutes ago freed himself from. She sat on the bed and faced him, for once, again, a bit shorter than him.  
Her face was so tired he wanted to pull her closer and never let go, making the world go away. He knew however, quite clearly, that he was probably the main reason for her being so exhausted so he limited himself to taking her hand and bringing it up to his lips for a lingering kiss on her palm.  
He heard her gasp at the contact and looked up, straight into her tearing-up eyes. He noticed her flushed skin, her slightly open mouth - pretty, pink little mouth he wished to explore in detail - and her faster breathing.  
'Moira' he whispered. 'Moira, I...'  
'Shh.'  
She leaned towards him, freeing her hand to trace the line of his jaw, ear, forehead, down his nose and to his lips. He caught her finger in his mouth, drawing his tongue across the tip, never breaking eye contact with her. On his crooked smile her heartbeat went up. Catching her hand again with his own, he pulled it to his side, and her towards him, after all.  
'Charles' she moaned in a whisper. 'Charles, what are you...'  
'This time properly' he murmured, cradling her face with his left hand and his right going around her waist and pulling her in.  
She jerked up and away, blanching in fear.  
'You mean to repeat this...!?' she hissed. 'After all I went through?!'  
He stared at her in confusion, not letting go of her hand despite her frantic attempts to free herself, but the panic and the underlying reason was practically rolling off her in waves.  
'No!' he exclaimed softly. 'No, please, Moira, no!'  
He dragged her towards him with both hands, tucking her into the crook of his arm.  
'Moira, I'm so sorry. So very, very sorry' he whispered into her hair. 'I will never touch your mind again, I promise. Never. I am an idiot. I am a sorry idiot. I'm pathetic, actually. I was so afraid I never once paused to consider what I was doing. I'm so sorry.'  
He felt her inhale, her whole body shivering. He carefully rolled her head onto his other arm so that she was looking up and he could finally regard her closely. She blinked, tears leaving shiny tracks on her skin.  
'Charles...' she whispered.  
'Moira.'  
They regarded each other in silence until, suddenly, she pressed her cheek into the softness of his shirt, sighing with relief.  
'I'm so sorry' he said again. 'Will you... Would you allow me to try again?'  
She nodded in agreement and sat up a little, freeing herself from his grasp. His hands found their way back into her hair and around her waist, tickling the naked skin just above the pants hem.  
'Moira' he whispered like a prayer and slowly inched forward, his lips meeting hers fleetingly, but making them both gasp. 'I want this to be something...' he didn't say to remember, fortunately. 'I want this to be the very best.'  
She smiled slightly and looked up at him.  
Their lips met again, slowly and lingeringly. He pushed her head a bit to the side to gain better access to her sweet lips and explored the possibilities the position provided. He felt her responding - her hands gripping his shoulders, her body drawn up to his, her breasts crushed against his body, her breath coming in short gasps whenever they separated for even a split second.  
He made it the quest of that evening to make Moira moan his name. He licked, nibbled with his lips, carefully bit with his teeth. He soothed her flaming cheeks with his kisses, coming down to her exquisite white neck and back again towards her forehead.  
'Moira' he whispered against her cheek, leaving a trail of kisses. 'Please, Moira.'  
He didn't know what he was begging for, but she answered by pressing herself closer to him and it seemed to be the right answer.  
'Charles' she panted, resting her forehead against his and making them separate for a moment.  
He used the momentary lull to drag her closer and get a better hold on her waist.  
'Moira, I'm so sorry. I never should have done that, I've betrayed you and I will spend forever rebuilding whatever trust you've ever had in me. If you allow me. Please?'  
She felt his palm against her cheek again and she found herself pulled up and finally his lips covered hers in full and she could feel his desperation and longing. He was holding her like a lifeline and kissing her deeply, all tongue and lips and she felt her contact with self slipping and all she knew were her lips and her hands suddenly around his neck and her fingers threading in his luscious, soft hair, holding him securely to her.


	11. Moira and Charles: Present

**Scenes in the Darkness**

**Moira and Charles: Present**

She was shivering. That was what woke him up, and so he reached out and drew her, unresisting, towards his body. With a sigh she pulled up the covers and settled in the C created by his sleepy form. He felt her pert, round bottom touch just over what he called 'feeling line'. Worming his hand under the warm blankets he caught her hip firmly and manoeuvred her seat into his lap.  
Another correction of her position put her now flush with his chest, with her head finding a new pillow - a very manly, muscled and just a tad bit hairy pillow.  
That left his right arm free to roam up and down her curves, teasing the sides of her breasts, barely touching the skin with his fingertips. He sneaked his fingers under her tank top and traced her ribs up towards the underside of a bra.  
Her shudder and a tiny moan made him smile crookedly.  
His hand ghosted over her flat, taut belly, tickling her navel and hipbones, barely peeking over the hem of her pants. He trailed his fingers along that hem teasingly and then went up again.  
He was rewarded by a slightly longer, deeper moan and her arching slightly, pushing her breasts forward and giving him perfect access to her ear, neck and shoulder. He made use of her silent offer.

He wasn't sure how much time they spent in that room, in that bed. He was conscious of the fact that sometimes a light meal appeared, with painkillers in a tiny bowl and lots of cool water in a row of bottles. He was quite happy to stay like this for some more time, with Moira curled in his arms - she appreciated his arms, one good thing that came with the wheelchair, even if he still had to work on them a bit - and with the outer world dealt with by someone else.  
They both felt the accumulated tension drain away, every minute some more, every hour they relaxed, their internal maelstroms settling down, stress slowly ebbing. She cried into his shirt, long hours of catharsis, after sudden understanding and relief finally hit her. She babbled about everything that happened, her confusion, her loss, her alienation, her fear for herself and for him, her fury, her pain. She told him about the flashes of recognition - whenever she saw something in the street, or heard a song, or a voice.  
He cradled her closely and listened, handing her handkerchiefs and kissing her hair. He never once touched her mind, but couldn't help catching the most passionate waves of feeling that stormed in her.  
He listened and felt and stored all these thoughts for later, silently vowing to fulfil all that she dreamed of.  
That was, until he got hit by a particularly strong and sharp picture of a newborn. His breath caught, because the underlying feelings told him whose baby it was supposed to be.  
He brought her closer to himself at that point and leaned against the wall by the bed.  
'Moira' he whispered in the silence after her tears stopped and her body calmed down..  
She answered by a single, thought-sent ' _?_ '  
He kissed her temple and moved so that he could look at her properly.  
'Moira, are you doing that on purpose?'  
She pursed her lips and closed her eyes.  
' _This?_ '  
He deftly pulled her in for a kiss.  
' _Love you_ ' he sent and felt her body shiver. ' _Love you, love you, love you._ '


	12. Moira and Charles: Future

**Scenes in the Darkness**

**Moira and Charles: Future**

'What will you do now?' she asked, one hand tracking some abstract patterns on his skin, fingertips playing with the fine, soft hair on his chest. She couldn't look up after the way they spent the last hour or so. She couldn't face him, half expecting the proud smirk he sported the first time she tensed up in pleasure in his embrace.  
He didn't do that much, just followed whatever he was showed in her thoughts. It was a winning strategy and it got him the very effect he had aimed for. Moira falling into pieces next to him, with his fingers and mouth applied in all places she wished for - and some she wasn't expecting - gasping his name over and over like a mantra.  
She let him in. After the incredible breach of trust he committed she still let him in, opened her mind and actively initiated contact. Whatever else happened to her due to his terrible interference, she was left with a gift or two. Apparently prolonged exposure to his brain chemistry and patterns had affected her 'normal' mind enough for her to be able to link to his.  
Which she did, flooding him with her emotions and body sensations just in time for her first peak. The moment he shook off the shock he reached towards her, creating a loop back into her, opening the gate for his feelings to be added to the exchange.  
She clung to him, kissing him, her hands wandering up and down his back. He felt her thrill at being finally able to hold him in such an unreserved manner, felt both him being touched and her touching, tasted his own lips with hers. Suddenly he found himself flat on his back, with Moira hovering just over him and kissing and touching her way across his well-built shoulders, his stomach, his hips and up his sides. She knew she should not go much lower, as he hated having her see the parts that were immobile and useless.  
Now, both tired and quite satisfied with the recent progress they were lying - him on his back, she on her side, head down, focused on the recently explored expanse of his chest.  
'I don't really know' he sighed, gathering her closer to him, happy to feel her skin to skin. 'I suppose we will have to leave that room one day. Hank won't be able to hold the fort for much longer by himself.'  
She nodded and closed her eyes.  
'What would you think' he started carefully 'of getting employed here, in the school? I mean, getting a real, full-time job.'  
'What would that be?' she murmured sleepily.  
'I think deputy headmistress chair is empty.'  
She raised her brows silently.  
'Or main students' counsellor. Or general assistant. Also, there will be a need always for some non-mutation related lessons. Including hand-to-hand combat and, however much I may despise the fact, probably we could use a shooting instructor.'  
She burrowed deeper into his embrace.  
'I think... I think deputy headmistress sounds nice' she yawned. 'As long as one of my perks is kicking the headmaster out of his office whenever I think he looks even the tiniest bit tired.'  
'We can put it in writing' he smiled, drawing her closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that would be the end to "Scenes in Darkness".  
> Now, "Living in Light" had some tiny parts written at the time, but since then my drive had died, so I started re-writing it. It became much more complex and way darker than I previously planned. So, next chapter starts the third section of this story.


	13. Living in the Light  Moira: Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, "Living in the Light".  
> This part started as "let's add something", grew to "something more" and is now 22k words and still not completed.

**Living in the Light**

**Moira: Awake**

The moment she woke up, she knew there was something very wrong with her body. Pain, a deep-seated ache that radiated from her bones outwards, made her shiver. The tube in her throat made her choke. Through her own drumming pulse she heard various beeps and human voices, but the tube and the feeling of gagging overwhelmed her as she started shaking her head to get rid of the offending object.

"She's waking up" someone said nearby.

"Moira, love" another voice "Moira, you have to keep still. The nurse will take the tube out and you will be able to breathe. Please, hold still for a moment."

She wanted to. She just couldn't.

The voice was wrong. The words were right, even the slight inflection in the sentence was just what she'd expect, but the voice was wrong and the pronunciation was slightly off...

...and she was gasping for breath as the tube came out of her mouth.

"Now, you have to calm down, Mrs Stein" a non-nonsense female voice said from her left side. "You will injure yourself if you move too much so quickly. Sir, maybe you can help her...?"

Moira shivered so much she shook on the soft hospital bed.

"Moira, love" again, that wrong voice. "Please, you have to calm down. You are _safe_. Everything will be fine."

That voice was so very wrong, the slightly off way of saying "r" made it even worse.

And she still couldn't _see_.

"Moira" suddenly her face was being held in assured grip of two slender, cool hands. "I'm going to take the compress off your eyes. The nurse had lowered the lights, but it may still hurt. Please, tell me if there's even the slightest amount of pain."

She couldn't keep still even for a second, but the hands anchored her and she took a shaky, long breath. Her throat was scraped raw, so she couldn't even try to make a human sound, only a soft moan. Meanwhile, her brain was working at top speed, trying to process the signals.

Hospital.

Breathing tube.

Pain.

_Pain_.

Wrong voice.

_Whose voice?_

_Wrong hands. Too cold. Too narrow. Too long._

She shivered again as one of the hands was suddenly gone, but then the layer over her face - which she had never even noticed before _he_ told her about it - was slowly being peeled away.

"I'm taking off the gauze that holds it" he said in a low, slightly - maybe? - growly way. "Now, I'm taking off that bandage. They put it there to make sure your eyes were properly covered and that you were actually resting."

That voice was not one that she associated with such _caring_ tone. He had never _cared_ for her. The best he ever did was _tolerate_ her presence, merely as a show of accepting the whims of others.

She shivered uncontrollably and again, the same anchoring hands came down on her shoulders, softly pressing her down on the bed.

"Please, don't move" he sighed. "You've had several surgeries and the amount of sutures they put in you is absolutely terrifying. We weren't really sure you'd wake up."

Another layer of the eye compress came off.

"Now, love, please try to open your eyes, very slowly."

She made a hissing noise as her eyes refused to cooperate.

That "love" was said in exactly the way she'd wish to hear it, but that was so, _so terribly wrong_.

"She needs some saline" the - nurse? - said, as she walked out. "Give me just a moment, Mr Stein. I'll be right back."

She felt his hands squeeze hers in something that was probably supposed to be assurance, but she couldn't take much comfort in it.

"Shh" he murmured when she started to pull her hands away. "Moira, please. Calm down. Everything will be fine. You have to get better" she felt his hand leave hers and tuck a strand of her hair behind her left ear. "Please, love. The children need you."

She shivered uncontrollably.

"Now, Mrs Stein - Moira" the nurse came back. "This will be cold, but it will help you open your eyes. Must have gotten stuck together when you were in the coma."

Moira's head started spinning, but then suddenly something cold hit her eyes and she cried out wordlessly.

"Love, please" he caught her hands as they flailed around helplessly. "Please, calm down. Nurse Harrison just needs to use a few drops of saline to wash your eyes. Shh."

She tried keeping still and was rewarded with another attack of cold fluid.

This time she managed not to flinch and started to crack her eyes open the moment she felt a soft cotton pad wipe the grime from her eyelids.

"Now, isn't that better?"

Erik Lehnsherr was smiling down at her in his weird, slightly crooked way as he held her emaciated hands in his.


	14. Sean, Surprised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean is very surprised by the changes in the school

**Sean, Surprised**

The car was safely stowed in the garage and he could finally reacquaint himself with the house after his relaxing, slow trip around Canada. He appreciated Professor's suggestion at the time - he had been getting restless, but the cops in the area were not getting any less vigilant. Fortunately, he was still only local news when he left, and by the time he came back, new and more important terrorist threats surfaced, making one kid from somewhere unknown a relatively uninteresting topic for law enforcement.

Also, Hank managed to produce a very convincing set of documents for a completely different name, birth date and birth place.

Also, he managed to get his nose slightly out of alignment in one of the lumberjack bars he sampled in the wilder part of the country.

Once he shaved off his hair - down to a very recruit-like buzzcut - he stopped looking in any way like the kid from the 'WANTED' posters. Which was just perfect.

* * *

He was quite happy with his situation, he had to admit. He got his old room, there was even some of his stuff still in the attic - Hank knew best where to look for it - and he had free run of the school grounds, unlike the younger students.

"You do" Professor interrupted his thoughts. "But I will ask you to consider it your home, not your school. You are too old to be a student here, anyway."

Sean sat up on his bed.

"Hello, Professor. I must say, this thing you're having here, it's amazing. That many kids under one roof and the house still standing? I thought our first group, all that time ago, was going to blow it up."

"At the time, it was mostly Alex and his lack of aim, that's why it seemed like we had an explosion every day" Charles smirked. "Now we have mostly children - actual young children, not like you boys were. Their powers are interesting, but only some of them are strong enough to make the school shake. Jean, of course, yes. But she is fortunately very much under control."

Sean nodded.

"Do you need me anywhere? I mean, I can't properly _teach_ , as I'm not really good at anything in particular, and I never got a degree. Still, I could probably at least help during P.E."

Charles smiled widely and Sean felt a small cold thrill going down his spine. _Uh-oh_.

"Now that you mention it, yes. I'd like you to take some load off some of the teachers. P.E. can use help, definitely, if for no other reason than having a gang of boisterous talents on the court and trying to control them at once. But, at the same time" he pulled a handful of brochures from his pocket. "You could read through these. You can get that degree, you know. You could live here, God knows I have rooms to spare, and commute to the nearest college. If you pick a good, useful major, you could work outside the school. Not every mutant must be a teacher here."

Sean picked up one of the colourful leaflets.

"Art therapy? Really?"

Charles shrugged and wheeled himself out.

"Just a suggestion! Read them, there may be something that sparks your interest. And if not, well. You _can_ always get a teaching degree and come here tutor the younger kids, the ones who have gaps in their education."

He left and Sean flopped back onto his bed, tossing the leaflets to the floor. For now. He was planning to sleep all day, just to make use of that fabulously soft and clean bed.

* * *

Late next night he felt an overwhelming need for milk. Milk wasn't something he could really keep for a longer time on the road, so he missed it terribly. On the other hand, he knew very well Alex would be merciless, should he see him with a glass, so he managed to stay away from it for the whole day.

Kitchen was empty and only a tiny light was illuminating the surfaces. He managed to pour himself a glass and moved to the window to look out on the grounds, still in the moonlight.

He heard a moan, which stopped his hand mid-raise.

Another, much longer moan.

"Charles!"

That was that kind of moan. He smirked.

"Charles! Oh, yes, good!"

_Wow. Professor, you dog._

"Yes! Charles, oooh..."

And there was some... squeaking.

Sean's eyes widened.

_Oh, my. The bedsprings._

"Mmmm..." the voice rose slightly. Whatever Charles was doing, it was sooo keeping her happy.

Low rumble of Charles' voice was to indistinct for Sean to work out specific words.

"YES!" she shouted in a funny, laughing way.

_I should probably tell Charles they have to keep the windows shut_.

The kitchen door opened and he looked guiltily away from the window.

"Is there any milk left?" Alex grumbled.

"Sure. Half a gallon at least" Sean offered weakly.

"Good. Can't sleep."

Alex rummaged through the fridge and came up with the bottle, a package of sausages and some sliced yellow cheese.

"Wanna sandwich?" he asked, eyes half closed.

"Yeah..."

"Bread is behind you."

_"Ooooh, Charles!"_

"GODDAMMIT!" Alex growled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Really! Some of us are trying to sleep. Also, some of us are..." he stuttered, reddening.

Sean snorted.

"Not getting any?" he finished for his friend, turning towards the breadbox. "Really, how long can they keep it up?"

Alex picked the bread knife from the drawer.

"Anything from ten minutes to five hours. Mostly depends on her day. Today was probably a particularly good one. We can count on not catching any sleep until morning."

Sean gazed at the ceiling.

"And they... wait, you mean this is someone, like, _steady_?"

"Yes. And yes, most of us are not getting any, because we live miles away from civilisation and, well, _in the kids' wing_. One day I will kill him, just out of sheer frustration."

Sean chewed on his sandwich slowly.

"Could we maybe ask them to keep it down, just a bit? Not that I mind, my room is on the opposite side, but if some kids wander into the kitchen and hear this..."

Alex perked up.

"That may actually be a reason that will work for him!"

"And for her?"

_"MOIRA!"_

Sean's hand froze halfway towards the forgotten glass of milk and he stared at the ceiling.

"He's boinking Agent MacTaggert?" he hissed towards very, very amused Alex. "Why didn't you tell me he's... with Moira-frigging-MacTaggert!?"

"Shh" Alex listened for a moment more. "Wow, I think they might have actually broken that bed. Not that I'm going upstairs to check or anything, but I think I've heard something hit the floor."

"Oh, Lord" Sean swallowed the rest of his milk. "And how long has it been like this?"

Alex bit into his sandwich and chewed, thinking.

"Maybe three months. She just showed up, out of the blue. Then she helped Hank to get Charles back into working condition. And now, well. She's making use of that working condition."

"So, Moira has been here, for all this time?"

"She's the viceprincipal" Alex explained. "That includes student consueling, standing in for any teacher who needs some help and threatening our esteemed leader with, I quote, slapping him into the next stage of evolution, unquote, should he behave like an idiot again and try to crawl into a bottle or something equally stupid."

"Wow" Sean inhaled the last of his sandwich. "So, wanna sit for a moment on the quieter side of the corridor?"

"Nah, I'm good" Alex weaved the offer away. "I think they are done. Maybe I'll be able to sleep in a bit, I don't have anything in the morning."

* * *

The morning came bright and slightly crispy. Sean pulled on a pair of sweats and a woolen sweater, considering breakfast to be an important meal, but definitely not a dress-up one.

The kitchen wasn't exactly full, but three pre-teens on one end of the table and two grownups at the other made it seem lived-in.

"Good morning, Sean" Charles greeted him in slightly absent-minded manner, picking up his cup.

"Good morning, Professor. Agent MacTaggert."

She looked up at him and smiled.

"Hello, Sean. There is coffee in the pot, if you want some, and the tea is brewing. And Alex picked fresh rolls in the morning, there should be some left. Mostly everything is like it used to be" she cocked her head. "Well, except for some stuff being moved to the lower cabinets" she kissed Charles' temple.

That whole operation was made all that much easier simply because she was sitting in Charles' lap all that time, with one of her hands threaded through the man's hair.

Sean shook his head and reached for the coffee.

"Hot" Charles said, not even raising his head from the newspaper.

"Yeah, thanks."

He poured himself a mug and stood by the counter, watching all of them. Finally, the bell rang and the kids started to pick up their things. In a minute, only the three grownups were left in the kitchen. Sean busied himself with preparing a roll with some pickled cucumber he found in the jar.

"Ah, Sean" Charles interrupted his very careful non-surveillance of their movements. "There is a running contest today that could use another judge. If you want to help, it starts in three hours, by the old storage shed."

"Sure" he finally had to turn back towards them, but he took an escape from the conversation by biting into his roll and chewing it carefully and slowly.

They looked nice together.

Moira was all poised and correctly coiffed, but sitting in Charles' lap, on a wheelchair, took away some of that fierce official feeling. Currently she was busying herself with Charles' tie and smoothing away the random locks of hair that escaped the confines of his ponytail.

She looked much as she did the last time they saw her - just before she went for a walk with Charles and never came back.

She actually looked even more... bright. She _was_ staring adoringly at Charles, who was obviously trying to play the suave British aristocrat - his tea and his newspaper - completely ignoring a gorgeous woman perched in his lap.

_'I am not ignoring her'_ he suddenly heard in his mind. His eyes snapped up towards Charles who was watching him over the edge of the newspaper. ' _And thank you for the visualisation. I hope I'm not_ _ **that**_ _boring.'_

"Love" Charles caught one of Moira's hands and brought it up to his lips. "We have office hours in a few minutes. We should probably get going."

"Also, we're probably making Sean lose his appetite" she added with a smirk.

He choked just a bit.

Charles laughed and pulled her in for a kiss.

As far as Sean could see, there wasn't anything at all chaste about it.

"Now, love, hop off, I don't want your skirt to get snagged on the wheels. Also, I think there is some issue on the ground floor. Some parents are arguing. If you could go and see what it's all about, I will join you in a second."

She stood up and straightened her cream coloured shirt.

"Do I look respectable?"

_You look snogged_ Sean managed to stop himself from saying, but obviously leaked the thought as Charles shot him A Look.

"Yes, a very proper deputy headmistress. Just, ah, this" he reached up and rubbed off some of her lipstick that got smeared when they kissed. "Now, perfect."

She leaned and gave him a small peck on the cheek.

"I'll deal with them. You talk to Sean, I suppose you need to discuss a lot."

As she left, Charles trailed her with his eyes in a rather obvious way. Sean hid a smirk behind a new roll.

"Yes, nauseating" Charles said suddenly. "But I'm afraid you will have to deal with it."

"Nah, professor. That's cool. She's cool. Also, that's your home, after all."

Charles drank the last of his tea and collected the dishes.

"Do the washing, would you?" he asked. "Normally Moira does this, but with these parents arguing downstairs..."

"Sure, prof. No problem" he saluted with half of the roll. "Also, if there's anything around the house that needs doing, let me know. Otherwise I'll go bother Hank in his lab, or something."

Charles laughed.

"I will find you enough things to do to keep Hank's research safe" he finally promised. "There's always the library to order, if we run out of chores."

He turned the wheelchair and rolled to the door.

"Was there anything else?" he suddenly turned to Sean. "I thought... nevermind."

"Actually, professor..." he chewed a bit of the roll for a moment. "You might consider, you know, closing your windows. Sometimes."

Charles was suddenly red, very, very red.

"Ah, well" he spluttered. "What?"

"Alex is not getting enough sleep" Sean provided. "Also, getting a glass of milk in the middle of the night is just a tiny bit embarrassing these days. But, on the other hand" he smirked. "I have to say I do admire your stamina. And hers."

"Dear Lord. I'm so..."

"Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know in case I messed up UK/US or made some very weird typo. I'm happy to correct and make the text better :)


	15. Eric, Smoking

He sat heavily on a bench by the hospital, just behind a corner from the main entrance. Moira had been in a coma for a week now and the doctors weren't giving her big chances of ever waking up. Or, should she wake up, that she would avoid memory loss - or even brain function loss.

In short, they didn't think she'd wake up and were pretty sure that if she did, she'd be a vegetable. There were things he could stand - loss, pain, grief. And there were things he had any idea how to live with, and one of them was pity. Sometimes he just had to get out of the ward to escape the overwhelming pity he saw in every pair of eyes there.

Considering the blood loss, the infection that flared up immediately after the first surgery, the secondary infection and the unexpected allergy to one of the antibiotics - _antibiotics, for fucks sake!_ \- he felt quite sure the staff would be watching Moira like hawks for any new symptom. He could afford a few minutes outside, despite the situation.

He checked his watch and pulled out a cigarette. He rolled it carefully in his fingers, just for a moment, but then decided he could have one before heading back in, to battle the healthcare system.

Taking a deep inhale of the fragrant smoke he tried to clear his mind of all thought. He needed these moments outside - watching the birds, the trees, and the hospital cat, obviously trying to hunt, despite the fact that one of the nurses strapped a tiny tinny bell on his collar. Without them, he came too close to damaging something. Or someone. Or himself.

Erik slowly massaged his left forearm. He managed to fall asleep propped on it and still felt slight pins in it when he tried to move it.

Living in the hospital for extended periods of time was not the best thing he would have recommended for a man of his age - not very advanced, mind you, just not that young anymore. But he could take no chances with Moira's health - or, even worse, life.

He took the last drag on his cigarette and dropped it into an ashtray by the bench. It did take out a bit of a pleasure - he sometimes liked to stomp a butt into the ground - but here, on hospital grounds, he decided to behave according to local rules. Not that anyone could _force_ him to obey. He chose to behave like this and the rules simply said the same thing that he had already made his mind up to do.

Putting his fedora back on, he tilted it slightly. It didn't look exactly respectable that way, but it gave him that air of youth that he was trying to cultivate.

As he strolled down the corridor, a nurse stopped him by the main desk.

"Mr. Stein? Could you please fill in your wife's paperwork? I understand that since you've come here there has been just one thing after another, but the finance department is asking..."

He smiled widely.

"Not a problem, Miss. Just give me a table and a pen, I'll have it done before I get back to my wife."

"Thank you! I will check on your wife for you, if it helps."

"That would be very nice of you" he nodded and seated himself by a small, rickety table, trying at the same time to fill in Moira's vital information and to listen down the corridor.

However before he could even start on the insurance information, there was a ruckus coming from Moira's room, so without ever stopping to think, he sprinted towards the door.

"Mr. Stein!" the nurse stopped him before he managed to crash into some machinery, suddenly grown around Moira. "Please don't come in."

"What..." he swallowed. "What is wrong?"

"Her heart stopped" the doctor by the bed answered harshly. "Charge!"

He barely noticed someone slightly taller than himself pulling him away.

"Mr. Stein, they are saving your wife" a burly guard said. "You know very well what will happen if you interrupt them."

He rubbed his eyes.

"Yes. I'm so sorry" he weaved the guard's hands aside. "I didn't know... It's just too many things this week."

The guard patted his shoulder awkwardly.

"Is there anyone? Some family you could bring, to sit with her, and you could maybe rest?"

Erik shrugged.

"At this point, there's nobody left but me" he said, words growing bitter in his mouth. "I'm the only one who can be here, with her."

"We have heartbeat!"

He slumped down the corridor wall.

"Wheel her to the OR. There is no time to stand around! Who the hell was monitoring her? There's a raging infection here, what are you idiots doing just standing around!"

Apparently no more quiet smokes outside the hospital for him.

_Dammit._


	16. Alex, Supporting

"So, what do you think?"

He turned in front of a tall mirror to see himself from all angles. Moira giggled and pulled his tie straight.

"Very convincing. Just comb the hair back a bit, and it will be simply perfect" she handed him a hairbrush and a small jar of hair gel.

"Ah, conspiracy!" Charles' voice from the door interrupted them and they turned towards him, smiling. "Now, I assume you've got all the needed documents, Alex."

The younger man picked up the black briefcase waiting on his bed and tapped it significantly with one finger.

"And, Moira, love. Are you _quite_ sure you're ready for this? You know we could resolve this in some other..." she leaned in and kissed him. "Um."

"Yes" she answered simply, straightening. "And don't try to make my mind up for me, Charles. I have to go and deal with this finally. Last time I chickened out and only took some unpaid leave. Now, we've waited too long and there may be consequences. So, my handsome henchman - or bodyguard, what is he, actually? - will drive me to my meeting with the terrifying director of the CIA and then will stand behind me with a scowl, thus hopefully scaring some people enough so that they don't bother me."

"Yes" he said in a slightly breathless manner. "But, love, whatever you do, don't get too close to anyone. I don't want to have Alex fry someone because they couldn't keep their hands to themselves, and in this blouse, I'm afraid, you are at a rather higher risk than usual."

She frowned.

"So you say that you'd be unhappy should Alex fry some potential groper, but not that I'd feel violated by that groper?"

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips.

"You know I would be quite angry, should anything like this happen. But I also know you well enough to feel only pity for the unlucky person who tries anything with you when you're in your battle mode. So, please. Don't let Alex ruin his nice new suit. He may need it if he happens to play a mob bodyguard again someday. Also, CIA could bill us for damages. Maybe let's set a target at – say - no more than two dislocated shoulders and one shot kneecap?"

Alex rolled his eyes. These two could flirt using _any_ excuse, topic and situation.

* * *

 

"Miss MacTaggert and a... Mr Summers to see you, sir."

The director of CIA blinked. 'a Mr Summers' - that was unexpected.

"Yes, she called. Let them in. And clear my calendar for the next hour and a half. Can't say how long it may take."

The door opened and Moira MacTaggert was, in fact, standing in it. However before she managed to take a step inside, a muscled young man in tight dark suit stopped her and entered instead, taking a long and searching look at the room.

"You may come in, Ms MacTaggert" he confirmed in bored voice.

She walked in, slight sway of her hips exaggerated by a pair of really impractically high heels.

"Thank you, dear" she turned to the young man. "I think you can safely take a position outside."

"No, Ma'am. I am supposed to stay by your side at all times."

She sighed, rolled her eyes and approached the desk.

"Sir, thank you for seeing us on such a short notice" she shook his hand and sat in a tall armchair. "I'm afraid I am here to tender my resignation from the Agency, immediately."

His ears felt like stuffed with wool.

"What are you saying, MacTaggert?"

She extended her hand towards the young man. Obviously well trained, he unclasped the suitcase and pulled a thick envelope.

"I'm leaving, sir. Here's my contract - and I found a clause that will fit the current situation quite appropriately. I haven't been promoted or given a raise within the expectations set by the contract, and at the same time I received perfect marks on my yearly review. Which means, by the end of last month, the Agency was not fulfilling the contract. As my resignation is dated today, my employment would only last until the end of the current month. To facilitate the transition, I have this for you" she added a one-pager, declaring her availability for debrief. "And if you could schedule any needed meetings within the next two weeks, I'd be glad to oblige you. I'd like to be able to focus on my new work from the beginning of next month."

The big man behind the desk shuffled through the papers.

"I admit" he said slowly and grudgingly "we probably made it a bit tough for you here, Mo... Miss - Agent - MacTaggert. I can see it now. But, should you consider staying on, we could probably work it out, somehow. I mean, it's a new world. We can make women agents, if we want to. And if I decide to make you an agent, then nobody can protest."

"I'm sorry, sir, but the decision is made. I will be moving out of state in two weeks and I've already signed up for the new position. Please, however, do keep your offer open for some adequate young lady with good ideas. It may pay to pay attention to them, from time to time."

He harrumpfed in annoyance.

"Call tomorrow" he said finally "we'll set up the right dates for the debriefs and you'll be on your merry way. By the way" he rose from behind his desk. "what kind of position are you taking?"

"Deputy headmistress" she answered smoothly, leaving him gaping stupidly in mid-rise.

"What school would engage an ex-CIA agent?" he exclaimed.

"Our institution is very happy to have Ms MacTaggert in our employ" the young man suddenly stepped in, his face set in an unhappy grimace and his voice low. "She is a valued member of our faculty team and everyone is appreciative of the time she had already spent with us. Should there be a problem with Ms MacTaggert's contract dissolution or any other details still related to her work here, our lawyers are available, as needed. Our headmaster - my uncle - had repeatedly stated his admiration for Ms MacTaggert's high work ethics and brilliant mind."

Moira blushed prettily at this.

The director sat down again, awash with sudden understanding.

"So this is what it is all about?" he snorted. "MacTaggert, I thought you were better than this. Giving up the agency _for marriage_?"

She shrugged and smiled again.

"I think it is time for me" she said. "I'm getting married in a month, and I couldn't responsibly be a wife and an agent at the same time."

He felt himself agreeing with that point, actually. Still, it didn't sit right with him.

"Very well, MacTaggert" he grumbled nevertheless. "I'm signing them, I'm signing."

* * *

 

"Miss Dane, please call up the security. We'll need to put a tail on the two persons who just left."

"Miss MacTaggert, sir? She is an ex-agent, isn't she?"

"Yess..." he confirmed, trying not to let her know too much. "But I need to know what she's doing with her time _now_."

* * *

 

"Didn't you overdo this a bit?" Alex hissed as they walked towards the car. "This whole blushing bride thing, wasn't it too much?"

Moira strode forward.

"They are idiots" she finally said. "if we just left it like you said it, they'd never taken the bait. Also, they never had the best opinion of my professionalism and mental faculties, so I just showed them what they could expect to see - a woman getting into a new work situation by the way of the bedroom."

He opened the door for her and helped her to climb inside. He felt her hand on his sleeve, squeezing briefly.

"It will be fine, Alex. Let's just drive now and meet the others."

* * *

 

"Sir, they couldn't be followed beyond the train tracks. They had two identical cars waiting for them there and each went into a different direction. Each of these was lost in traffic shortly No hope of recovering..."

He shrugged and weaved to dismiss her.

"They left enough hints around for us to build an entire investigation it we need to. Search for the planned marriage ceremonies next month in - hmmm - a hundred miles radius, and for private schools in neighbouring states. Then we can correlate these and see if we can find what that gives us. The name of that thug that trailed her was Summers, but it's a rather common one. So I'd need someone who could be more or less his parents' age - that would make our target what, fifty-five-ish _and_ related to someone named Summers. MacTaggert has a thing for weird relationships. Always had."

"What should we do with her flat, sir?"

"Send the team there. Have them collect everything. Kitchen trash, too. Any bill, any tiniest piece of paper. Check the fridge, take the mail, look for newspapers."

* * *

 

He carefully hung the suit in his wardrobe, covering it with a protective sheet.

"Thank you, Alex" the Professor watched him from the doorstep. "I would have gone myself..."

"But then your wheelchair is much more recognisable than my face" Alex added. "That was the whole point. Big enough to be menacing, bland enough to be forgotten. I think it worked, actually."

"Also, the fact that we've emptied her apartment probably helped, too."

Alex smirked and stretched out on his bed, facing his guest.

"Yeah. How did that go? Did the guys go all squeamish?"

Professor rolled his eyes.

"No. Because I've sent Jean and Marcia. They were more than happy to pack all Moira's things for us including her accumulated mail and the kitchen waste bin, just in case there was something of informational value left there. As far as I could observe, they did perfectly good work."

"Aww! You should have let me have my fun! Now I'll have to go bother Sean about something else...!"

"Alex. If I had pressed Sean to go and help the girls, whose good would suffer the most? I'm almost certain that she would have felt objectified if I tried to use her flat for your entertainment."

He had to admit Professor had a point. It didn't mean he couldn't fondly fantasise about Sean trying to pack Moira's bra drawer without looking at _what_ he was packing


	17. Erik, Fraying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is getting too tired.

**Erik, Fraying**

The second time Moira crashed he was right there.

Jean told him that people in a coma do actually hear everything around them and that there was a theory saying that talking to them helps.

He didn't really have an idea what to talk about to _Moira_ of all people, so he read her the newspaper. Gossip, politics, letters from readers and even cooking recipes. He drew a line at sports statistics, though.

The hospital was quiet. Friday afternoon apparently wasn't that much of a rush hour as in the world outside. The paper he was holding had just one page left - the sports - so he sighed and folded it.

"Moira, I will be right back. I just need to buy something to read and maybe a coffee."

He knew very well that she couldn't answer. Nobody could, not in that kind of condition. He chose to tell her this kind of things anyway, because just leaving and coming without acknowledging her seemed somehow... disrespectful. And, looking at what her life was now reduced to, he didn't want to take away this little courtesy, too.

Being in a hospital was the epitome of disrespect. Human being was reduced to the signals - the heart monitor, the ventilator pressure reader - and the parts that worked or not. Heart: working. Lungs: not working. Brain: who knew.

There were tubes coming out of her mouth and nose, cables leading to various sensors, IV lines in both of her hands and even a few additional electrodes - experimental monitoring, they said - stuck to her temples. They suggested shaving her head to make the access to her brain easier, but he very respectfully suggested where they could shove such a suggestion.

The coffee corner provided a meagre offering, but with plenty of cream and sugar, the outcome was drinkable, if not enjoyable. He borrowed a glossy automobile magazine from the stack in one of the waiting rooms and made his way back to Moira. Maybe he could amuse them both by making wild suggestions of cars he could buy and where to go in them.

Obviously, she was just the same when he came back, so he carefully set his coffee on one of the cabinets, opened the magazine on a random page and started reading about the newest European progress in the area of small family cars.

He was quite used to various sounds her machines made, so the alarming, constant "bleep" emitted by one of them had him immediately on his feet. His first reaction, born of the sheer level of stress, was to crush the offending machine down to a metal slug, but he stopped himself with effort. Before he even managed to take a step towards her, the nurses and a young, very energetic doctor were there, pulling her shirt open and preparing the paddles, or whatever they were, shouting things that probably made sense to them.

He turned away, trying not to listen to their vain attempts at reviving her.

"She is stable, for now" the young cardiologist said, re-tying her ponytail. "I can't tell you much more before we get her test results, but I'm afraid her whole system is weakened to such degree that any kind of stress, even the slightest, can cause new damage. Her red cell count is low, her veins look like paper, she develops a new bleed with every incision we make and even every IV port. We'll have to replace the bed she is in now to something more long-term, or she will develop skin problems. However" she pulled nervously at her ear "I can't really say it will help. We're keeping her on new meds now, they should at least help to rebuild her blood vessels so that she doesn't bleed out by accident. Once she is a bit stronger, we'll start on additional treatments, to get her out of that anaemia. But I must warn you, your wife may not survive another attack like this last one. Her heart is too worn out."

He nodded mutely and went back to the room, to watch over her some more. Obviously, it didn't change anything if he was there or not because she'd die anyway, if she was going to. Him sitting there all the time didn't make any difference.

Still, he felt that should he leave before they throw him out in the evening, he would be shirking his duty. That was what he promised to do. He promised to be there, for her, no matter what happened to the world outside. He felt like he failed too many promises recently and that this specific one was one he wanted to keep.

She always looked peaceful now. Completely unlike the Moira he met all these years ago. The hospital had stripped everything off her - the hard shell of life in a very masculine profession, the prickliness, the education, the bossiness and that "I'll take no shit from you, Lehnsherr" face she sometimes wore.

Objectively he'd always known that somewhere, under all that tough superwoman crap, under the armour of beige and grey clothes and these ugly large glasses, under the X-men jumpsuit (which Hank designed specifically for her, with thick coating of Kevlar and steel inserts, to ensure they still had her at the end of a mission) and under whole Agent Doctor Principal MacTaggert there was actual Moira. Soft, human and easy to break. He just never saw it that way, never looked at her with Charles' eyes.

And now she _was_ broken, all shields shattered, all defenses down, and he was probably the only thing that stood between her and whatever shit the outside world wanted to throw at her.

He hated that hospital. He hated the fact that he had to look at yet another human damaged, most probably just because she got too close to his people.

One of the reasons was that he _did_ feel responsible. And he just couldn't take it anymore. Not with another woman, not with yet another family crumbling in front of his eyes.

A nurse entered quietly, but he felt the steel in the tray she carried, the instruments in neat order, the tubes of her ballpoint pens and the movements of her watch.

"I'm afraid the visiting hours are over, Mr Stein" she said kindly. "You can come back tomorrow after eight. We will be keeping her under close observation during the night" she pointed to a tiny camera in the corner of the room. "Just in case, the additional monitoring has been turned on and the duty nurse will be able to see her from her room. We've changed all the signals to a louder sound, so in case... Well. We'll see you tomorrow, yes?"

He nodded slowly, wiping his face with both hands.

"I'll be back. Please give me a call should anything happen. You have my phone number on file. Anything, at any time."

"I will. Don't worry, we'll take good care of her."

Suppressing a sigh, he stood up and shrugged on his coat. He pressed a quick kiss to Moira's brow under the curious eye of the nurse and mumbled something even he couldn't identify - maybe in English, maybe in Polish. Things were getting jumbled up in his mind, he knew. He had to pull himself together, at least for as long as Moira needed him.

The air outside was crisp and with a slight smoky tang that reminded him of his last autumn in Poland. It had that specific, biting smell reminding him of people warming their houses with whatever they could find, random pieces of wood and poor quality coal.

He coughed at the thought, the very memory giving him a bitter taste at the back of his tongue.

He had to sleep, but it felt very tempting to simply adjust the seat in the tiny car and try to nap in the hospital parking lot. There was no energy left in him to drive back home, not if the news he'd be bringing were no better than the day before.


	18. Charles, Distracted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira is doing her best to distract Charles

**Charles, Distracted**

She was distracting.

There were thousands of ways Moira MacTaggert affected him, but her tendency to _bite_ the soft pink rubber eraser on the top of her pencil was one of the top five.

She traced the damned eraser all across her pouting lower lip as she filled in the crossword, making tiny "ouch" sounds that made him lose track of whatever it was that he was trying to do.

Also, she was wearing one of her button-downs and not much more, so her impossibly long legs were on full display on the olive yellow pillows of the sofa.

Here, in his - their - private rooms - as much as anything in the school could be deemed private - he kept the older, more massive pieces - big, sturdy chairs, large sofas, dark wood coffee tables and, of course, his desk.

Out of the storage rooms they also managed to get an equally traditional and heavy desk for Moira, which she adored - or so she said - but she still preferred to do paperwork on the couch. Or in a window seat. Or on his desk, pressed tightly against his back, her breath tickling his ear and her lack of a bra distracting him completely.

Moira not wearing a bra was also in the top five. She tended to don one only when leaving his - their - rooms, as she claimed being properly armoured against the world outside was the way to survive the day.

And now, she was in the sitting room, stretched on the sofa, displaying just enough of her legs to give him a rather interesting view, sucking - _sucking_ \- on that damn pencil and very definitely not wearing a bra.

Very carefully he set the last checked test aside and laid his forehead against the cool surface of his desk.

" _Mmmmm"_

And she was making noises like that.

* * *

He traced the shell of her ear with his lips, making her shiver, but letting go before he could reach the part that made her shiver _and_ moan.

"Charles" she breathed in annoyance.

"Mmmmm" he purred into the skin behind her ear. "I was thinking..."

"Bad Charles. No thinking."

She tried to turn to face him, but he held her tight, her back flush against his chest.

"Where was I..." he mused, trailing soft kisses along her shoulder. "Ah, yes. Here."

He buried his face just in the right place to make her shiver and press harder into him. Soft, delicate skin at the back of her neck turned out to be extremely an effective weapon against her self-restraint. He licked it, eliciting a long, soft moan in response.

_'I wonder what parents of our students would say if they knew how their vice principal spends her evenings'_

She was breathing deeper now, her whole body trembling as he kissed down her spine, to the exact place between her shoulderblades.

_'They always see you so proper, so poised. They see the proper ecru blouses and the proper pencil skirts and the most proper and sensible flat shoes. They see the perfectly styled hair and these terrible, reasonable glasses. You are all buttoned up, zipped up, brushed and covered. I wonder what would happen if I left a mark in some place that you can't cover with any of your proper teacher's blouses'_

He slid up, to the point behind her ear, where he applied himself to teasing her, tracing her hairline with his lips, down to the very back of her neck, which again made her squirm and gasp and even utter some minor blasphemies.

_'Such a dirty mouth, love. What happened to the lovely, perfectly elegant lady who met with the students' parents today morning? Did you lose her on the way here?'_

"Charles..." she moaned as he continued the assault of both lips and mind.

_'I'm not sure I understand you'_

"You... you said you wanted to _talk_ about something..." she managed to get out between gasps.

_'Mmmm, yes... I mean, we can't really have the vice principal of the school cavorting with the school owner like this, can we?'_

"What...?"

 _'What I mean, love'_ suddenly he turned her onto her back and propped himself on his elbows over her. _'You look lovely like this, you know?'_

 _'Like what?'_ she replied weakly.

 _'All freshly kissed and blushing everywhere'_ he leaned down to catch her lips with his. _'And what I mean is, I think, but only if you'd be amenable to it...'_

_'You ramble in your mind, Charles'_

_'Ah. Yes. Marry me?'_

* * *

"And should we ever have any children" she said calmly, looking straight at the ceiling. "And they ask us how we got engaged, what are you going to say."

He groaned and flopped on his back, covering his eyes with his forearm.

"We'll think of something. Because "mommy had a mind-shattering orgasm and she was shouting 'yes, yes'" may not be exactly the story they should hear."

"You flatter yourself."

"Yes? And who was saying, just five minutes ago, that she doesn't have energy to even pull the blanket over herself and so asked her dear, loving _fiance_ to do it for her?"

She pouted.

"Well. Maybe something like this happened. I don't say it necessarily did, and if it did, it didn't necessarily have anything to do with any orgasms."

He leaned over her, tracing the lines under and over her breasts, then down to her navel, stopping mere inches below it. She sighed, pressing closer to him, of which he made a good use, pressing a row of soft kisses to her throat and down the breast, to her quickly hardening nipple. This he sucked in vigour, listening to her muffled cries as she turned her head and bit into her own thumb.

_'So, about that orgasm...'_

* * *

He bought a ring. The day after he proposed and she, in all appearance, accepted, he asked Hank to drive him to town and bought a ring of white gold, set with tiny emeralds.

"Why not a diamond? Ladies love diamonds" the sale assistant tried to herd them towards another display.

"This specific lady shouldn't wear anything so colourless as a diamond. Emeralds will suit her better" Charles answered absentmindedly. "And, this pendant" he pointed out a matching white gold anchor, tiny, but also marked with emeralds.

As they sat in the car, he regarded his purchases with dread.

"Do you think she will like them?" he asked Hank uncertainly. "Maybe I should go and buy that diamond thing instead? If they say women like them..."

Hank rolled his eyes.

"Are you asking me for relationship advice?"

"You give it anyway, unasked."

"Well, right. But, to the point - I have no idea. But does Moira look like someone who prefers big flashy diamond rings, or does she rather look like someone who would prefer a downplayed one?"

Charles bit his lip.

"If I go back there and ask for that diamond, I will only show that I think she's just like any other woman" he said slowly. "But I'd rather have her as herself. I don't _need_ any other woman."

Hank shrugged and started the car.

"Here's your answer. I'd say, if you need to put a ring on her hand, let it be something she'll like."

"You're just saying it because you don't want to go back there."

"That too."

* * *

It took him additional month to finally find enough time alone with Moira for this to work. Every time he gathered courage, something happened. Usually several somethings.

The garage roof finally caved in, raining debris and two students on the cars inside.

The radio from the living room got rewired to speakers randomly seeded across the house and played music at the least appropriate moments - and places.

The fridge died. And a few things inside, too.

New girl had nightmares. And produced projective hallucinations.

Someone actually managed to bring _lice_ into the school and it took three weeks to just get _that_ under control.

The fact that Jean Grey was there, watching him fidget like a kid, wasn't helping. He knew she was much more mature than her peers, but she had no right to _laugh_ at him in her thoughts.

And he definitely didn't want to do it in bed, again. Somehow it didn't seem _right_. Even though bed seemed to be the only place where they were alone for more than a minute.

Finally, as he was sitting at his desk, and for once Moira was _not_ doing her paperwork on the sofa, he had an idea.

* * *

There were cherries, that much he remembered. And champagne. He bribed Alex to make the purchases quietly and deliver them when Moira was in the class. He even managed to locate the right set of crystal glasses.

He moved from his chair to the sofa, making sure everything was in easy reach, and waited.

Moira was late.

Very late.

He sent a quick probe through the school and found her. Talking to Jean, of all people.

_Oh, seriously._

He sent a small "poke" down the midnlink with Jean, but the only answer he received was amusement.

_'I know you think it's funny, but I have a bucket of ice here that's slowly melting. I also have some plans for your favourite teacher's evening, so do you really want to spoil them?'_

She sent him the mental equivalent of an eyeroll, but quite soon he sensed Moira coming up the stairs.

The lights in their rooms were turned off, leaving only two of the table lamps near the sofa, so when she entered their sitting room, it was quite dark.

"Charles?" she asked in slightly surprised voice and he heard her shoes hit the floor. "Charles, is everything fine?"

"It is" he said softly. "Come to the library."

She was lovely, as always. Standing there, in the doorway, just in her light dress and stockings, she was the most fascinating person he had ever seen.

"Come on" he nodded towards the sofa. "Sit with me for a moment, love."

She crossed the carpet and went around the table, looking at the contents with a small smile. He handed her a glass and they clinked them carefully. She sipped hers, looking at him with slight suspicion over the rim.

He downed a little bit more than he planned, but quickly set the glass on the table, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

"It is very beautiful, you know" he smiled nervously.

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

"The mutated MCR1 gene. Auburn hair" he saw her smile widen "it's very beautiful, it's a beautiful - mutation."

She leaned towards him, her eyes smiling.

"Mutation took us from single cell organisms" she recited, slightly out of breath "to the most dominant form of..." she waited just for a heartbeat.

"...life on the..."

"...planet" she finished, in synchronisation with him, lips moving against his sweetly and irresistibly. A hand sneaked up into his hair and she tugged him to herself, falling back on the sofa, playing along the same old lines.

He followed her, kissing her and pulling towards him, but he resisted, just enough to reach to the table behind the sofa and fetch the tiny box.

"I hoped you remembered" he grinned like a fool.

She licked her lips, eyes trained on his.

"How could I _not_?" she whispered.

"Well" he shrugged. "I just thought I may add to that memory..."

Holding her a bit closer, he opened the box and placed it in her free hand.

"Considering the rather unorthodox circumstances of my previous attempt" he kissed her, rather chastely "would you agree to marry me?"

She frowned, looking at the box.

"Charles, I'm not much of a jewelry girl..." she trailed off, as he extracted the ring from its holder and deftly slipped it on her ring finger.

"Well, then?" he smiled down at her, still propped on his arm. "What now?"

"I..." she sighed, visibly restraining a smile. "I would. I do. I will."

He pulled her in, finally, kissing her soundly and enthusiastically.

_'Have we ever...?'_

_'No, not on this sofa.'_

_'Hmmm...'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you think this is going anywhere :)


	19. Moira, Discovering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira learns why she is at the hospital

**Moira, Discovering**

She fell asleep pretty quickly after that first exchange with Erik and the nurse. The whole situation seemed weirder with every minute, and Erik Lehnsherr playing the role of a devoted husband was not something she could easily fit into her reality. Finally, her brain saved her from the necessity of understanding what they were saying and how she was supposed to react and simply turned off, making her fall asleep in the middle of some stray thought.

* * *

Next time she woke up the light was early-morning-harsh, coming from a window behind her. Erik's lean, straight form was somehow even sharper because of it, as if devoid of midtones - all blinding brights and gloomy darknesses. He seemed to be reading some rather old car magazine, but the way his eyes strayed every once in a while towards her told her that his heart wasn't really all that into - she checked - three year old news about big trucks.

"Good morning" he rasped, slightly hoarsely, as soon as they made eye contact. "How are you today?"

He put the paper away and reached for her hands. She looked down at them with slight discomfort. Still, he held them, loosely, just by her fingertips, looking at her intently. She didn't pull away, but it felt unnatural and made her wince internally every time he leaned closer to her. She had no good memories - she actually had a bunch of rather lousy ones - where Erik Lehnsherr was concerned. They never shared anything in common - except, maybe, Charles' good, and that only as it fit into their own agendas and plans. Which, she could probably claim, she did slightly better, considering she wasn't the one skulking in the bushes somewhere in Europe.

Apparently, he wasn't either, but that rigmarole with a new surname - _and_ her being his wife - was making her very, very suspicious. Still, considering he was apparently known as her husband by the hospital staff - and that she had no other choices at that point - she decided to play along.

_Temporarily._

"Not very well" she whispered. "Water?"

A glass with a straw appeared in front of her as if by magic.

Slowly sipping, she kept her gaze on him.

His hair had thinned, somewhat. It was shot with silver now, and slightly longer. His features were somehow thicker, not so aristocratically elongated as she remembered. He looked like a common worker more than the international mutant menace. Also, the stubble seemed positively piratical.

He took her glass without a word when she handed it back.

Slowly, very slowly, she drew herself into a sitting position.

"Here, let me help" he reached behind her, propping her up with an additional pillow. His arms went around her, her face was suddenly quite close to his chest. She inhaled, completely by reflex and immediately her eyes filled with tears.

_He smells like Charles._

"Moira, Moira" he caught her hand again. "It will be fine. Don't cry. I know it's hard - it's hard for me, too, but I can't even imagine..."

He saw her look at him, not understanding. His eyes flickered downwards.

Slowly, hands shaking like leaves, she traced them down her body. Her sides, her hips and up over her belly. Her flat, very definitely flat belly.

She felt the pain inside her blossom into something akin to a flame, eating her from inside. There was moisture on her cheeks and tears dropping down her chin before she even noticed she was crying. Her hands shook as she tried at the same time to cover her face and to hold her midsection tightly.

"Moira" he tried to still her frantic movements. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. There was nothing they could do. You were bleeding so, so much" he explained quickly. "We couldn't wait for the ambulance, we went ahead in the car, and we met them on the way. They tried to stop the bleeding, but it turned out the baby..." he inhaled heavily. "The baby had already died. And that was the reason for the bleeding."

She shuddered and tried to cover herself more with the blanket.

"Love, I'm here" he said, the accent almost spot-on and his face _so_ very concerned.

"Mr Stein, it's time for your wife's checkup. Please make room."

He stood up awkwardly and went around the bed to sit on the other side, where a small metallic barrier was raised. Carefully, with butterfly-light touch, he rubbed a small circle into an uncovered piece of skin just above her elbow. Anything below was covered by IV ports, bruises from previous IV ports, bandaids and injection sites. Moira looked down her left arm and then up the right one in astonishment, trying to estimate the time she must have spent in that bed in order to collect so many obvious signs of treatment.

Nurse Harrison - that much Moira managed to remember from the previous period of consciousness - was checking the incision on her abdomen, which was apparently healing nicely, a second incision slightly lower and to the right, a _third_ incision just above that...

She must have heard Moira's gasp, because she looked up.

"Oh, my. Mrs Stein, what is it? Does this hurt?"

"Ah, nurse..." Erik's German-tinted voice made the woman jump just a tiny bit. "I'm afraid my wife just found out about the baby" he moved his hand to Moira's shoulder and leaned on the small metal divider. "Love, I'm here for you, you know this. You are not _alone_ with this."

She blinked and focused on his face. On his surprisingly tired, weather-beaten - maybe slightly tanned? - face. He _was_ telling her something. She was smart, she knew it. She could work out what was going on here. She just had to ask the right question. She slowly freed her hand from his grasp and raised it to his temple, opening her eyes in a question she couldn't voice.

He nodded, in such a minute way that it was more like a very slow eyeblink than a nod.


	20. Scott, Arriving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott is delivered to the School and things are discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Scott in the comics are, as far as I remember, at least as weird as in movies, age-wise. In the movies, Alex is at least 16 to be imprisoned as a grownup in 1962 (XMFC), and Scott is at school in 1983, so probably also 16-ish (XMA), making Alex's birth year 1946 and Scott's - 1967...
> 
> (of course all that time we totally ignore that Charles, Erik, Alex, Hank and even Moira seem to age only minutely in 21 years :)

**Scott, Arriving**

_'Jean, if you're done calming down Alicia, could you please come to my office? I'd appreciate your help.'_

* * *

"She's sleeping, and I think it's better if we restart this completely tomorrow" she yawned. "I think I caught the general view of the pattern..." she blinked at the new person in Professor's office.

The boy - probably more or less her age, but it was hard to guess - had a thick bandage over his eyes, hair partially shaved (and partially long and floppy, very definitely not brushed or even washed often enough), some bruises and a white walking stick. One of his hands was being covered with a soothing salve she knew all too well, by Hank.

Hank, sweet and calm Hank, was radiating _anger_. It was almost as strong as what he would have emitted as the blue Hank - whose emotions were vastly amplified by his more animal reactions. Now, however, treating and bandaging a stranger's burnt hand, was doctor McCoy, trembling in controlled fury. Still, his voice came out calm and soft as he talked the boy through the whole ordeal.

"I won't apply it to your left hand, as it's much better off, and you will probably need it for the cane. However if you feel blisters raising or anything at all, you have to tell me and we'll deal with it immediately. You _have to_ tell me. Don't just stick it under running water or, heaven forbid, cover it with butter like some kids do."

"...I won't..." the boy answered, voice small and hesitant.

"Now, Scott" Professor leaned on his desk. "I asked Jean - Jean, say something?"

"Something?"

"Very funny. Well, she's one of our students and I think she can help us here. Jean, Scott was delivered today from a..." he stopped.

"An orphanage" the boy - Scott - provided calmly. "In Wisconsin."

"Mhm" she made a symbolic sound.

"And it seems that there is something - special - about his eyes."

"They hurt" Scott added. "And then my head hurts, and then things go up in flames."

"Yes, well. We're not sure if Scott will be able to control his ability, because mostly it's been rather destructive. He's mitigating it by just keeping his eyes closed - and bandaged, as you can see. I asked Hank to check what exactly it is that Scott does, but I wanted to ask you to check inside, before Hank does anything at all. I don't want Scott to damage himself just for us to test his ability. If, for whatever reason, the headaches connected to the power expression cannot be mitigated, we'll have to rethink the test."

She nodded slowly and pulled up a chair.

"Scott" she said, slightly nervously. "I will now try to enter your mind and check how that power works. Please do not be afraid. I will not touch your memories or anything like this, I will only look for your powers. Are you OK with it?"

He shrugged.

"Anything to get rid of the headaches" he said softly. "And if you can make it so that I can actually open my eyes and see something, I will be more than happy to let _you_ see anything you need in my brain."

She glanced up at the Professor, slightly scared by the boy's easy adjustment to the idea of someone rummaging in his brain.

"Go on, Jean. I trust that you'll be able to help him."

Scott felt more and more discomfort with where the discussion was going, but if the girl promised him the headaches could go away he was willing to sacrifice his privacy. Not that he had a lot of it, as the orphanage had robbed him of most things he owned, including personal space and feeling of personal security.

Suddenly there were hands - not like the cool fingered doctor who wrapped up his burnt hand, but warm, slightly quivering fingers of the girl. Jean.

He felt a little tickle at the back of his head and suddenly the underlying tension he had felt for the previous few months was released.

_'Ouch' the redheaded angel said. 'No wonder you were willing to let me in just to get rid of that. Even without actively using your powers, you're collecting the energy and then it just sits here, waiting to be used, and that's why it hurts all the time anyway.'_

_He turned, looking around the darkness about them._

_'What did you do?'_

_'I swallowed it' she said simply. 'I already know how to use my mutation, so I can transform the energy you have collected and then use it safely for something that I need, like helping someone manage their powers. Now, can you talk me through what you know happens?"_

_He shrugged and looked at her from under his slightly messy fringe._

_'When I open my eyes, I see normally, maybe for a second or two. Then everything goes brighter and redder and then I feel the fire, like completely at the back of my head. And then it goes forward, through my whole skull and then out of my eyes. Then my eyes start hurting a lot, like when you try to win a no blink contest and you have all dry eyes? Similar, but add the feeling or sandpaper going against your eye sockets, out, at the speed of a freight train. I usually can't close my eyelids at this point, because it burns the pink tissue inside, so unless I manage to stumble into a stone, things either blow up, die or reflect the fire on me. I am usually OK, but my clothes are...'_

_She nodded and walked around him, not touching him at all._

_'So when the energy collects, and you open your eyes, it doesn't happen immediately, right?'_

_He nodded back._

_'I get like a second or less before it all goes boom.'_

_'Now, can you think about opening your eyes under the dressings?'_

_'Yes, this is easy. As long as I don't_ _**see** _ _any light, my eyes don't start.'_

_'AHHA!' she cried happily. 'So they react to outside light and only after a moment they produce their own light?'_

_He shrugged again._

_'I guess so? I never had a chance to like, really test it. I was afraid to open them ever since I took off a chimney in the factory a few blocks away.'_

_'Wow' she whistled. 'All right. You have very little energy left now, and it's not collecting at this point, so we have to remember to periodically check what is causing it to grow. I will ask Hank to go with us to the basement, we have a long corridor there that is secured against most types of heat and so on, so you'll be able to open your eyes and we'll see if it starts or not. And we'll pick up some flame retardant material from the lab, so if it actually_ _**starts** _ _and I will feel you hurting, Hank will just cover your eyes quickly. Are you fine with this idea?'_

_He dithered for a moment._

_'Could it be you?'_

_'Could it be me what?'_

_'To cover my eyes. I would feel better. If you could.'_

_She smiled and actually reached out to him._

_'Sure. I'll do it. Give me a moment to talk to the Professor and we'll head downstairs.'_

She shook her head and slowly pulled away from Scott.

When she was in the trance, Professor and Hank moved to sit on both sides of her and Scott and there was certain tension in the room.

"Jean?" Professor broke her chain of thought.

"He's OK" she said immediately. "Sorry, Scott. Talking about you like this, I know you don't like... oh, my. So sorry" she coughed and grimaced. "Must have been not that careful on exit. Caught some of your stray thoughts. We'll deal with it. Anyway, the power is heat and light and it works based on the amount of energy Scott collects _and_ access to light from outside. Now he's fine, because his eyes are covered, and if he opens them under the bandages, or, well, in a darkened room, he should be fine. The least amount of light and boom."

"Boom" Charles sighed. "Let's make it no boom today, kids, please."

Hank chuckled.

"No boom today, boom tomorrow" he quipped. "Sooner or later, boom."

" _Hank!_ "

"Sorry, Charles, but that is inevitable. In this house? If not Scott, then someone else. Sooner or later, boom."

Jean intervened quickly.

"Now, I think we could take Scott to the armoury and check what happens. I drained most of the energy he collected, so maybe, just maybe, he should be able to open his eyes and _not_ shoot laser beams from them. And if he does, I will cover them with that stuff that doctor McCoy uses for lab coveralls. It may be enough to stop the light and not burn immediately."

Professor nodded slowly.

"Very well, Jean. That's great initiative. You go with Hank and try this. Also..." he thought for a moment. "If Scott _does_ still fire these beams, could you ride along and check the energy signature?"

She frowned and saw that Scott was also looking uncomfortable.

"Why?" he asked finally.

"I think..." Professor pursed his lips. "I _think_ I felt something similar once. Similar to what you carried before Jean drained it. I'm just not sure where it was. So maybe if Jean can catch the way the beams work, we'd be able to match it with that other power and develop some mitigating measures. It's a long shot, I know. But I'd say it's better one than some."

Scott nodded slowly.

"Anything to deal with this" he said finally. " _Anything_."

They rose, Hank threading Scott's arm through his.

"We'll take the elevator down to the basement and I'll fetch the material that Jean mentioned. She will keep you monitored and I'll remove the bandages slowly. Anyway, they may be a bit too tight and could damage your eyes even more than the light does. We'll turn the light way down, to avoid any accidents, OK?"

Scott nodded slowly as they made their way out of the office.

"Thank you, Professor Xavier" he managed to say before his two assistants led him away.

_'Not a problem, Scott'_

* * *

The bunker they used for other students was long and lines with reinforced steel. Jean once asked "reinforced with what?" but the answer she got from Hank was too technical for her to follow at the time. Now she knew that the reinforcement came from other mutants Professor knew, ones who didn't want to stay at the school but who were experts in manipulation of atom-level connections. Thus making the whole corridor well-nigh indestructible.

"Scott, here's a chair for you" she put his bandaged hand on the backrest. "And I'm holding the material, here" she touched it to his cheek. "I'll be here, with you, all the time. You're facing a very long corridor, it's like tenth of a mile long. We're underground. Everything is shielded. You don't have to worry about damaging anything."

He seemed to be breathing slightly easier.

"Now, Hank - doctor McCoy - will remove the bandage slowly. Keep your eyes shut until I tell you. I will be with you all that time, in your head, unless you'd rather not?"

He shook his head quickly.

"I'll feel safer" he said. "I... that _feels nice_. Like holding hands, but better."

Hank cocked his eyebrow at her, rather expressively, and she blushed.

"Fine. I will cover your eyes the second I feel you're in pain."

They sat in silence as Hank expertly unwound the bandage and removed the thick pad of gauze and cotton from Scott's face. There were grooves cutting deep into the boy's face in the spots where the bandage pressed too tightly against soft flesh. Hank hissed at the sight and checked around Scott's skull.

"Why did they shave you like this?" he asked angrily.

"The... that man in the orphanage said that if I don't want to take off the bandages every day, he has to shave me to make sure the hair under... doesn't grow in."

"Good gracious. Seriously" Hank ground his teeth. "Very well. I'm taking this away now and Jean will assist you. There is nothing in front of you except for the back wall of the corridor. So. Jean is waiting, right? You can try. Now."

_The angel girl was there, again, looking at him._

_He tried focusing actively on opening his eyes, but somehow he just couldn't. He didn't want her to see him lose control and to be washed away by the flood of energy and pain that drowned him every time he tried._

_'I will be OK' she said, her smile lightening everything around. 'I won't be hurt. And I'm behind you with the mask to cover your eyes, if something goes wrong. Now, you can try letting go."_

He slowly cracked one eye just a tiny bit. Greyness surrounded him, dim and soothing. He pressed the eye closed again.

"Very nice" Jean's voice said excitedly. "Now, try again, a little longer!"

He breathed in-out-in-out rapidly.

"Now" he said, nodding, then leaned back on the chair and cracked the other eye open.

He wasn't feeling any pain or itchiness or burning that he came to associate with his powers. In fact, he felt quite... normal. Like he used to before he blasted a portion of school bathroom away after being bullied.

He blinked. There were tiny dots of pink just on the edge of his vision, but he couldn't focus on them. Focusing on anything was a problem, actually, because the corridor seemed smooth and seamless, with no specific feature to rest his eyes on.

"Do you feel the pain now?" Hank asked.

"He's OK" Jean answered for him. "Just dazed. I think the optic nerves might be a small problem, but if we work out some solution without that terrible compress, this should be fine. Scott? Do you want me to cover your eyes?"

_'No' he answered the angel girl. 'I think it is fine now. I don't feel the pain coming.'_

_'So, maybe we can finally see what colour your eyes are?' she joked lightly. 'Be careful, I'm on your left.'_

He felt her more than saw moving to his left. The moment she moved in front of him, however, he started feeling the pressure building behind his eyes.

_'JEAN!'_

_'I've got you'_

At the same time, three things happened.

A slight, still not fully formed, blast from Scott's eyes escaped into the corridor.

The chair collapsed.

Someone stepped into the corridor from a side entrance, directly in the path of the fiery projectile.

_The angel girl was holding him and_ holding the black cover over his eyes _and she was draining the sudden upsurge of energy from his mind, lessening the pressure_ and she caught him with one arm and _something was keeping them up_ and suddenly her strength was gone and they were sitting flat on the cold floor, Jean's hand still over Scott's face, covering it with a scrap material from old x-men uniforms.

Hank was already pounding down the corridor towards the unfortunate victim - _idiot who opens the door to training corridor_ \- and suddenly the man was standing up.

"What the fuck, man!" he barked towards Hank. "What are you doing here, firing solar cannon, or what?"

"Alex... How the hell are you even alive?"

Scott stiffened in Jean's arms.

"I don't know... what did you shoot me with? Oh come on, man, these jeans were _new_...!"

Alex's pants had several holes blasted in them, showing underneath some relatively untouched skin.

"Alex...?" Scott tried to sit up. "Jean, who is there?"

"What's with the kid?" Alex walked with Hank and crouched by the younger mutants. "Hi. Name's Alex Summers. And you almost killed me. So you'd better have some explanation."

A quiet *rrrip* signalled the definite demise of Alex's new trousers. And some part of his dignity, probably, too.

"For fucks sake" he sighed. "New pair every week in this job. If not acid barf then a kid who blasts holes in perfectly good denim."

Scott pushed himself up, with Jean still holding a cover over his eyes.

"I'm sorry" he said softly. "I didn't mean to. Jean and Hank told me the corridor was empty."

"Ah" Alex shot a look at Hank. "Yeah, I suppose it should have been. I'm sorry. Mixed up the gates probably. Now, what's with the eyes?"

Jean frowned at him angrily.

"He shoots the beams from his eyes" she explained tersely. "We were just checking the extent of his mutation and what kind of triggers it may have."

"Good luck with that" Alex grumbled. "If it's anything like my wonderful power, he will need some gadget to direct it. Like my focus rings that Hank rigged all that time ago."

"Alex?" Scott reached out minutely. "Can I see you?"

They stared at him for a moment, surprised.

"Not eyes! Hand!" he protested self-consciously. "I just wanted..." he shrugged. "Nevermind."

"No problem, kid" Alex sat next to him and guided the less burnt hand to his face. "I can't deny you the access to the perfection of Alex Christopher Summers."

Scott's fingers trembled as he touched Alex's cheekbone.

_'I could show him to you' Jean suggested._

_'No, there's something...' Scott's thought flew away from her. 'ALEX.'_

"ALEX" he said in such a way that couldn't be very well described as nothing but "whispered shout".

"Kid? You OK?"

"Alex" Scott repeated and stuttered. "Alexander Christopher Summers?"

"Just as I told you" Alex made a pleasant expression, but underneath Jean felt him losing temper with 'the kid'.

"Alexander Christopher Summers, born October 19th 1946."

"Kid..."

"My name is Scott. Scott Summers. Scott Thomas Summers" he started stuttering again. "I-i-i never thought... They said you _died_!"

Alex frowned and looked at the boy closer.

"What do you mean, they said I died? Who?" he seized the boy by his shoulders.

"Mum and Dad" Scott managed to force out. "They were told you died. They were driving out to Boston, they said they have to identify your, your corpse. And then they never came back and I had to go to the orphanage, because they said I'm too old for adoption..."

Alex crawled back until his head hit the wall.

"Scott _Thomas_? As in..."

"Thomas and Katherine Summers" Scott eagerly filled in.

For the first time since her arrival at the school Jean saw Alex really _scared_.

"My parents died over twenty years ago" he said finally. "I'm not sure what is your game, kid, but my folks for sure never had a son your age - they were dead by then."

"Mum had this pretty brown dress with golden trim" Scott answered suddenly, as if he was just sharing a random fact. "And Dad always listened to this completely unknown european band."

Alex stopped midway up.

"The Troubadours" he supplied.

"And Dad got angry when someone tried to explain they were not proper period music, and said every time _'but they are not...'_ "

" _'...supposed to be!'_ " Alex finished. "How the hell...?"

Scott shrugged.

"I know, there is twenty years of difference. Apparently Mum should have played lottery with this kind of luck. But I _knew_ it was you. Dad spoke the same way, the same exact accent, everything. I _knew_."

"Yeah" was all that Alex managed to say.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Jean and Hank almost forgotten, until she had to change her position.

"Oh, God!" Scott exploded with apologies. "Do you have anything that would make this material stay in place? It is perfect, I can open my eyes behind it and still everything is fine. I don't want to keep Jean sitting like this all the time, and I don't feel up to holding it up..."

Hank picked up a fresh roll of bandage he had brought just in case.

"I will wrap it in place, just a bit more loosely than what you had. And I'll think of maybe some kind of dark glasses that would stop light from hitting your eyes and starting the reaction. If I manage to isolate which type of light actually does this, I'll create the lenses tinted to match it and so you'll be able to see."

Scott sighed.

"I was able to see - I looked at the corridor and everything was fine. Only once Jean came into view, the energy just went *pfooh* and I couldn't even see anymore."

"Interesting" Hank bit his thumbnail. "Well, for the time being, here's your cane and let's go upstairs to find something to eat. I can hear your stomach growling from where I sit and Alex missed the dinner today."

Scott stood up awkwardly, trying not to squash Jean, not to trip over his own cane... Until a pair of hands picked him up, straightened and stabilised him.

"Here, cane" Alex said, wrapping Scott's fingers around the rounded end. "Jean, up up" he helped her up, too, and she wobbled a bit. "What's wrong with _you?_ "

Jean shuddered, just minutely.

"I drained Scott's energy twice today. Even the draining itself hurts a bit" she explained. "I need some aspirin and tea and like half an hour in full darkness."

Scott frowned and reached for her hand, catching it uncertainly.

"You didn't tell me that it hurts" he said with regret. "Why would you do it, if it hurt you?"

Jean patted his cheek.

"Because it was hurting _you_ more" she said simply. "Now, come on, Alex. Moira spent all morning singing in the kitchen, and it's not often that she lets her 'housewife' side emerge. I've tasted that stew and it's the best thing I've eaten this month."

"But she prepared enough for a battalion" Hank tried to comfort them. "There will be a lot left still."

Jean snorted.

"Have you forgotten you live in a _school_? There kids eat like termites. Last week someone ate the stale cake _and_ the paper plates it was left on."

Alex chuckled.

"Yeah, kid" he roughly pulled Scott into a - very manly - hug. "You'll fit right in."

* * *

Whoever "Moira" was and however unexpected was her cooking a meal for everyone, she was a _good_ cook. Scott managed to polish a bowl of whatever-that-was before the others were halfway through theirs, and got a second bowl - served with brotherly 'you need more muscle, kiddo'.

Brother.

_Brother_.

In a way, it was fitting. The first miracle was that school got a new nurse appointed. The second miracle was that she had time and patience _and_ was very good at what she was doing. The third miracle was that there was nobody else around when one of the girls from the house tripped over her too-big shoes and banged her knee. Minor miracles of the girl being little Tricia, who - by all record - looked like a blonde elf and made everyone want to hug her and the nurse being a skilled interrogator, and digging deep enough to unearth the truth about the house he heaped under one miracle of "friggin' lucky". Next miracle was the police chef being the nurse's uncle and actually listening to her and following up on it. Yet another was that the man running the _house_ wasn't warned - unlike in previous cases - and so all the kids were in their normal spots during the ride, including the two that slept _with_ the man in his bed. And when the police chef called in CIA and CIA called in another troop of specialists, and the kind man who got called in to talk to Scott quickly understood that "fire in my brain" wasn't exactly a metaphor _and_ made a call to the Institute _and_ delivered him to this fabulous place, Scott felt all the miracles in the world had been used up.

Apparently, in some kind of weird balancing of the scales, the world kept one more miracle ready.

_Alex_.

_'That was... wow'_ he heard Jean's thought.

He could only nod, inhaling the second bowl with appetite. She was eavesdropping, but he kind of didn't mind. It was easier than explaining that whole complicated chain of miracles in words.

They were all silent, except for occasional "pass the bread, Hank" "put the tea on, Jean" or "do you want more?". Scott felt _warm_. Inside and outside and _inside_ , in his soul.

"It's nice to see people appreciate my efforts" someone said from the direction of the door.

"That was just perfect, Miss Moira" Jean piped up, her voice enthusiastic in a new way. "And it was just what Scott needed, he depleted himself today during tests, and this is _protein_."

"Yes, darling, it definitely is. And you're Scott, I'm guessing?" he felt a strong, long-fingered hand on his shoulder. "I'm Moira MacTaggert, vice principal. You can call me Miss Moira, like Jean does. If you need anything or there is some problem at school you can't resolve, my door is one down from Professor Xavier, and unless I'm in classes, I'm there, so you can always drop in."

"Thank you, Ma-am" he answered quickly. "I hope there is nothing I can't deal with. Or that _Alex_ can't deal with."

She made a surprised sound.

"Alex?"

His brother slapped his shoulder affectionately.

"Yep" he heard Alex confirm with a small note of pride. "This is Scott Summers, my younger brother. He was just brought in today."

"Oh, great!" there was a sound of rustling and Alex laughed shortly. "Oh, how wonderful! Alex, really! We always thought you had no family! That calls for a celebration!"

She made some more sounds and there was a cupboard being opened and a collective "aaah!" from the other three.

"Now, Charles would kill me if he saw me feeding you _this_ amount of sugar at this hour, but I assume, bu Jean's and Scott's look that you both overdid it a bit today, so you deserve a treat. And I'm guessing Hank will be stuck at the lab all night trying to work something out for this" he felt a small tug on his bandages. "And Alex... Well. You deserve a treat anyway."

There was a small round cookie placed in his palm.

"Miss Moira's best scottish shortbread" Jean explained with a small sigh of delight. "She bakes it from time to time and uses as special prizes."

He bit into the cookie and suddenly understood why it would be treated as a prize. The sheer amount of butter and sugar in one of these was probably more than he consumed weekly at the orphanage.

"But why didn't you tell me? I would have prepared a room for Scott next to Alex, they are all empty now..." Moira continued, moving around the kitchen.

"Ah, we just found out" Hank explained, his voice slightly muffled - probably by the cookie. "We were downstairs, checking out Scott's mutation and Alex crossed the beam Scott emitted. His trousers are now mostly good for rags, but, you see, _he_ is not affected. And then Scott noticed his accent and made the connection, with the name and parents and everything."

"Wow" Moira breathed. "But... does this mean _Charles_ doesn't know yet?"

Jean giggled.

"We have to tell him" Hank crunched on the last bit of his cookie. "I'd pay ten bucks to see his face when he learns about it."

"About what, Hank?"

Scott heard the small, rubbery sound of something being rolled, and suddenly everyone in the kitchen was quiet.

"Moira? Alex? _Jean_? Would anyone care to explain?"

The sound of heels approached the newcomer's position, and again, some rustling followed it.

"Ah, Charles" Moira's voice turned a bit - lower? more intense? and it came from the height maybe just below Scott's shoulder? "You see, the new student - one that you _forgot_ to mention to me, darling - comes with an unfortunate luggage. The poor boy is apparently burdened with an older brother."

The Professor - because that was obviously him - made a concerned sound.

"Scott, is there a problem, with your brother? I didn't see any family listed in the papers dropped by that agent..."

His serious approach made Scott blush and stammer.

"No, darling" Moira interrupted him. "I think there will be absolutely _no problem_ with the older brother. Unless he decides to do something stupid, like take Scott on an unauthorised ride on his motorcycle."

_Alex has a motorcycle? Wow!_

The Professor was silent for just a split second.

"You must be kidding me" he breathed finally. "What are the _odds_!? I mean, really - no, Alex? Seriously?"

"Yep" Scott found himself being dragged into a half-hug. "Little brother, apparently. I never knew I had one, but now I'm _sooo_ not letting him go."

"Now, darling" Moira spoke softer now "I think we can place Scott in the bedroom next to Alex, the one that has connecting door? At least until Hank creates whatever is needed for Scott to be able to move on his own? They are on the ground floor, and as Alex is in the teacher's corridor, there will be less kids running around in the morning, and less risk Scott could trip over something left on the floor?"

"That is... a brillant idea, love" the Professor sounded somewhat out of breath. "Boys, are you OK with this solution?"

"Sure we are" Alex grunted, still holding Scott immobile. "Aren't we, little brother? I'll take you there in a moment, just need to wash our stuff. Don't get used to it, the moment Hank has glasses for you, you get put on the chore rotation. And _I_ am the one who writes the roster."

As Alex freed him and he could straighten his shirt back into reasonable position, Jean poured him another glass of juice.

_'Your glass is just in front of your left hand.'_

He grabbed for it and sent a quick _'thanks'_. He hoped it was the right thing to do.

"Now, you boys be good" Moira admonished them, her voice again at standing height. "Jean, you're on garden tomorrow, remember, so I'll be expecting you before breakfast. Eat your cookie, Scott" and he felt someone kiss his cheek softly. "Welcome to the family, dear."

"Alex, pick stuff for Scott from the storage room, make sure he has enough changes for a few days, before you can go shopping. The agent brought a bag of his things, but I'm _almost sure_ that we have some better fitting shirts at least. And find a trimmer, it should be in the downstairs bathroom. Good night now, everyone. Don't sit here too long. Hank, Alex, I expect you to get the students to their rooms by curfew" the Professor's voice was leaving them, accompanied by the same small, rubbery noises as before.

* * *

"What was that all about?" Scott asked as Alex led him through the house towards his supposed new room.

"Which one?" Alex snorted. "This house is so full of weird that you have to be more specific."

"Miss Moira. And the cookies. And then the way she spoke to the Professor."

Alex sighed.

"Yeah, you had to pick _that_ up."

Scott stopped for a moment.

"What do you mean?"

Alex pulled him a bit forward.

"Let's fetch some stuff for you first and then we can talk in your room."

There was a rustling and the some softer sounds and suddenly Scott's arms were full of fabric.

"You're a bit smaller than me..." Alex mused. "Here. Sweats, for now, but we'll find some proper trousers later."

"What is wrong with my trousers?" Scott bristled suddenly.

"Dude. You can't see them. I can. And even I wouldn't be wearing them. Rag pile, immediately. Same for the shirt. What the hell did these people at the orphanage _think_?"

"That guy mostly thought about feeling up some of the older girls" Scott answered without thinking.

"Man. That's _wrong_."

"Yeah, that's what the police said. They raided the whole house, picked us all up, from the beds, closets and wherever whoever was sleeping. There was a lady cop saying 'oh God, oh God' all the time, but then she was the one who busted into his bedroom, so I suppose she might have seen stuff she didn't really plan on seeing. They asked us a lot of questions, about food, about clothes, about sleeping in the same bed, about seeing doctors and so on. They wanted me to see a doctor, to check my eyes, but I managed to explain to one of the agents that they shouldn't unwrap me, because it burns. So he talked to the lady cop, and she talked to another agent, and _that agent_ came, asked me some more questions and put a call through here. And then he drove me here today, because he said he has a _feeling_ I might fit here."

"Yep. Circus of freaks, that's us. Good thing one of them could recognise that you're a mutant. Not many officials would make an effort."

"He said he used to work with some mutants, long ago. He told me stories, on the way here."

"Wow. Lucky you, probably one of the few left - except for our Moira, of course."

" _Moira_? Why?"

"She's ex-CIA" Alex explained simply. "Now, this is your room" he pulled Scott by his arm. "Here's the bed, I'll make it for you in a moment. Just put that stuff on it for now. Here's the desk, and the chair. And here's the window" Alex guided his hand to the handle. "Up to open vertically. Here's the door to my room" he led Scott to smaller, side door. "Now, you sit here, I'll fetch some bedsheets and blankets. And towels. I'll show you the bathroom later, so you can get there during the night, if you need. Just two doors down from mine."

Scott nodded, sitting silently in the soft chair and Alex left him, in search of the things he needed.

_'Scott?'_

_'Jean?'_ he frowned.

_'I_ _**am** _ _a telepath, Scott' she sent a_ _**smile** _ _through the connection. 'We can talk like this, if you want to. Even if I can't see you right now.'_

_'I... I don't know what to talk about'_ he admitted hesitantly. _'What would you want to talk about?'_

_'Is Alex setting the room for you, or do you need my help? I still have a few minutes left before the bathroom is free, so...'_

_'No worries. Alex is really cool. He just went to fetch some more things for me and I was just sitting down and thinking. Because, WOW. This place is just...'_

_'Yeah. And once Hank gets you these glasses, you'll be able to see it all! And to come with us to the garden, and to play soccer...'_

_'I never played soccer'_ he became worried. _'Do you think Alex will be disappointed with me? I'm not very... I mean, I like school, but because of my eyes...'_

_'If Alex tries anything stupid, you tell the Professor'_ Jean sounded very seriously. _'Almost everyone who comes here is at some risk of having their schooling disrupted. Not all of us are as lucky as the Professor, or Miss Moira, or me. Well, or Hank. Doctor McCoy. Some kids here had to leave school because they had visible mutations that made people torment them. Some were given up by their families, or just dropped at a church or a police station. You know best, being in the system doesn't guarantee proper education. So nobody is expected to actually fit in classes according to age. I'm almost graduating, but that's because Miss Moira wants me have time to work on my gifts some more before I start university.'_

_'Wow'_ he was seriously impressed. _'So, are there remedial classes? Like for someone who can read, but didn't manage to read anything for a year or so?'_

_'Don't think so' she sounded a bit worried. 'But I'm sure Miss Moira will put together a schedule that will help you. There are normal classes, like at school - history, maths and stuff - and then there's lab with doctor McCoy, and P.E. with Alex. And there is Sean, who mostly helps whoever needs tutoring, because he doesn't have a teaching degree, but he knows all the basic things, so he would probably help you to get up to speed with whatever you missed at school. And if you wanted, we could make a small study group and help you, you know. There is enough of us to seriously tutor you in everything.'_

_'Thank you, Jean' he sent. 'I'll see what Miss Moira decides then. Ah...'_

_'Yes?'_

_'Is it true she used to be CIA?'_

_Jean managed to send a snort._

_'Yep. She used to be an agent. Travelled abroad, fought badguys, helped resolve international conflicts, caught terrorists and what not.'_

_'Wow. Seriously?'_

_'She kicks ass, totally.'_

_'Are you fangirling her?'_

_'NO!'_

_'Sure?'_

_'Maybe just a bit' Jean admitted. 'But it's hard not to! She's just so cool! And she manages to keep up with all that crap that happens around here, all without gifts!'_

He frowned.

_'Without gifts?'_

_'She's not a mutant' Jean explained carefully. 'She is just... Moira.'_

_'Wow. But why is she_ _**here** _ _, like, why in this school? Why not at CIA?'_

_'CIA are a bunch of idiots. Her bosses, at least. Also...'_

_'What?'_

_Suddenly there was a picture of a man in a weird chair - wheelchair? - looking up with a sickeningly_ _**adoring** _ _expression at an auburn-haired woman at the handles._

_'Who is that?'_

_'_ _**That** _ _is Miss Moira. And the Professor.'_

He grinned.

_'Ah. I see. And at the kitchen, when she was making fun of him?'_

_Jean sent him a picture of the same man, in a slightly different wheelchair - much more modern and fancy - propped on one elbow, looking at all of them intently, and the same woman - her floor-length skirt explained all the rustling he heard - perched on his knees, talking to him with a mock-serious face._

_'That's today, from the kitchen.'_

_'And they...'_

_'Yes. For, like, twenty years.'_

Scott found himself suddenly brought back to his own room.

"You asleep?"

"No... Just, talking to Jean."

"Ah-ha. Tell Jean to go to bed or I'll be making a surprise inspection in five."

_'Jean? Alex is threatening surprise inspection...'_

_'Tell him to get stuffed, Jubes is hogging the shower again.'_

"Jean says someone named Jubes is hogging the shower" Scott relayed semi-faithfully.

"My condolences. She gets extra ten minutes and then I'll start assigning _extra_ chores."

_'Jean?'_

_'I've heard' she grumbled. 'OK, Jubes is out. Hope she didn't use up all the hot water. Goodnight, Scott.'_

_''night.'_

"You done?" Alex prodded him. "Let's go and check if the bathroom is free. I'll bring your towels. And the toothbrush. And Moira gave me some more stuff for you, like a bathrobe, so you don't have to change in the bathroom and, she said, fall and bash your head."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Thank Moira. She thinks of _everything_."

Scott had to admit it felt nice to be finally in a place where someone actually _thought_ about his specific needs. He just wasn't sure he would be able to fulfill their expectations...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Scott. I kind of didn't like the way Charles treated his mutation in XMA, because that might have meant Scott getting hurt/hurting someone randomly and feeling bad about his abilities. I hope my Charles had been kicked in the butt by life enough times not to make a similar mistake.


	21. Moira, Anxious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik finally explains (almost) everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that one took longer than I expected. Needed a lot of tweaking and I'm still not perfectly happy.  
> Let me know what you think. Did I go way out of character? :)

**Moira, Anxious**

She felt something give in inside her, like a piece of brittle glass, suddenly crumbling under pressure and cutting into everything around it with jagged, sharp edges. The next thing she knew, there was water on her cheeks - was she crying? - and Erik's hands were rubbing up and down the IV-free part of her arm in a comforting motion.

"Moira, please, you have to try to stay calm" he caught her hand again in both of his, covering it completely with his strong, callused fingers and squeezing it slightly to attract her attention. "Now, tell nurse Harrison if there's any pain. And don't try to be brave for my sake, you know you don't have to. If you need anything, _it will be done_."

She found herself unable to look away from him. Nothing existed in the room except for the two of them and his eyes was the only thing she could focus on. Speaking was suddenly very hard, when her teeth clenched and her body felt too warm and too small to contain the emotions swirling in her mind. She tried breathing slowly, but even that effort seemed too much. Everything seemed to be _too much_.

"I..." she coughed. "Everything hurts. Inside. Like someone stirred me up and pushed everything back inside. Like I'm bruised everywhere, inside and out. My bones hurt. My joints hurt. I think even my hair hurts."

His eyes darkened and he looked at the nurse who was hastily jotting it down.

"And the incision sites?" the woman asked. "Any itching, any feeling of swelling?"

Moira tried listening to her own body, half-closing her eyes to focus.

"Nothing I can feel specifically, other than the general pain" she whispered hoarsely.

"Can you give her something?" Erik asked the still-writing nurse. "Morphine? _Any_ thing?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head.

"We'll have to wait for the duty doctor."

"Please ask him. I'll pay any additional fees, if you can make this..."

"I understand. I will let you know the moment we have the decision."

As the nurse left, he turned back to Moira.

"I suppose you have questions" he provided cautiously.

"Of course I have" she said weakly. "What- what happened?"

He leaned closer.

"I don't know if there are any audio pickups here, but the camera is definitely still running, I can feel it" he whispered into her cheek. "I'm sorry that we have to do this, but we have to play the adoring, but saddened couple for at least a week more before they agree to release you. Maybe even more."

"What. Happened." she squeezed his hand with all her might. Despite her obvious frailty, she felt some bone move under her fingers and he grimaced.

"You... miscarried. And almost died on Alex's hands. Jean did _something_ to keep you alive, but it didn't help for long, and she had to take care of others. When we brought you in, you were already unconscious again. They had to operate to take the baby out - you were bleeding" he stopped and held her hands again as she began to shake. "you were bleeding out. You almost died, again, on the table. Then in three days you developed fever. It seems there was something wrong... inside. Then the stitches became infected. Then your heart stopped."

Her hand flew up to her chest.

"Then they got you started up again and this moment was what your appendix decided was the best time to rupture. And this they had to attempt twice, so there's the explanation for additional cut. And then your heart stopped again. I'm afraid in some places you're more stitches than Moira."

"What...?" she trailed off, her gaze yet again focused on the flat of her belly. "How could this happen? Everything was fine, the last visit we had was fine, _what went wrong_?!"

"We don't know" he said softly. "Hank is working on it. I've stolen samples of your blood from the laboratory here and got them delivered to Hank yesterday."

"If anyone can find explanation..."

"It will be Hank."

They fell silent for a minute as she tried to process everything.

"Erik, why are you here?" she asked finally, feeling more and more drained, but she simply had to have _that_ explanation.

"Why, Mrs Stein" he answered blithely. "Your dear, adoring husband is sitting by your bedside all that time and you ask him _why_ he's there for you. In sickness and in health, dear."

She shuddered. _Husband. Dammit. I wonder what Charles..._

He leaned in slowly, keeping eye contact with her.

"It had to be me" he explained quietly. "Others are too young or too visible. Charles... wasn't able to come. Raven was hurt and he was the only one who could keep her stable. Also, he was unable to drive, and he would have attracted attention himself, if he came to the hospital with you."

"What...?"

"We were hit" he answered curtly. "All of us. Some did better than others - whoever was not using their power, was not hurt. So the ones who actively use their mutation to live, like Raven..."

She bit her lip.

"And Charles?"

He shook his head slowly.

"He's alive. Not much use now, as he spends time mostly keeping Raven asleep and alive or being asleep himself. His range is down, to touch only. But without him and Jean Raven would have been dead by now."

"What is..."

"She was switching. All the time, all the forms, all shapes. So she was using up all her energy and she couldn't even eat. Once Jean found a pattern that made her fall asleep - Charles is training her in this direction now - Beast hooked her up to glucose IV, so she's at least not actively using up her own body right now."

"Dear God" she whispered.

He shrugged.

"I don't think _that_ one had anything to do with the attack."

The nurse came back, bringing the tray with some equipment.

"Now that you're awake, we can start on some tests" she said, a bit too brightly for Moira's ears. "Mr Stein, I'm afraid your time is up. Tomorrow you can come at seven, if you wish."

He half-smiled and leaned to kiss Moira's cheek, whispering quickly "I'll tell Charles you're getting better. But please, _do_ get better. For all our sakes."


	22. Charles, Guessing

**Charles, Guessing**

Someone is pressing on his chest rhythmically.

"Charles? Charles?"

Steps, running.

"We've lost him."

Moira's voice, so sweet, so panicked.

"Charles?"

_Hank. Is Hank crying?_

"He's gone."

_Moira sounds winded. Was she running?_

"Charles? Charles?"

_Why are they repeating my name? I know what my name is._

"No, he's not."

Cool competence in Jean's voice. _Jean did something, didn't she?_ She is so composed, so terrifyingly calm about it all.

"I can still feel him."

The other two only breathe heavily, in obvious fear.

And suddenly, there's a hand - albeit gloved one, he has do talk to the girl about it - and somewhere at the back of his neck a small tickle makes him focus.

With surprise he notices that he had most probably forgot to breathe.

Breathing is nice, if challenging.

He manages to crack a smile.

"Thank you, Jean" his raspy voice sounds uncomfortable even in his own ears.

Jean is calm. Collected. Jean is perfect.

_Moira_ is also perfect. And Moira isn't calm, or collected, and she will be falling to pieces any moment now. Because she loves him, he feels the _love-fear-love-fear_ wave coming from her, all over his raw, freshly scrubbed brain.

"Charles? Charles, do you know where you are?"

He slowly opens his eyes, just a tiny bit.

Cairo. Bloody Cairo. Jean managed to get rid of the enemy, but he still feels as if his bruises had bruises. His brain feels all open and shaken and his whole body just _hurts_.

They are all looking at him expectantly.

"I'm on a beach" he finally utters. The last time he felt that broken it was on that thrice-cursed beach, after all.

Hank's smile dies.

"In Cuba. With _you_ " he reaches out to Moira, willing her tears away.

She smiles sadly.

"What beach?"

_She looks worried_. Maybe it is not exactly as funny as he thought he was. Maybe she is just too worried to see the metaphor.

He catches her hand and pressed a kiss to her bloodied knuckles - was she fighting with someone? - and sends a series of _love-stay-love-stay-I'm-fine-love-need-you_ that is the easiest thing he can do to communicate both the fact that he's quite fine mentally...

...something tugs at the mindlink.

He squeezes Moira's hand tighter and pulls her closer.

"Love?" he gasps. "Haven't you forgotten to tell me something?"

She frowns.

"I don't think..."

She's interrupted as _something_ calls out to him again.

"Are you absolutely sure?" he reaches out and caresses her still-flat belly through her black jumpsuit.

She sniffs.

"I actually had a dinner planned" she says, not looking at him directly. "For yesterday."

"Ah."

"And then my fiance got carried away by a group of wild mutants and he never even called to say how long he'd be staying."

"So you spent your evening alone, waiting for him?" he smiles crookedly.

"No, I actually got kidnapped and taken prisoner by one of our old friends from the military, so I spent most of that time trying to break out of the holding cell."

He licks his lips, trying to focus.

"But you're here, now. Would you consider..."

Others sit around them, in absolute silence, waiting, as if enchanted.

She sighs, slowly caressing his head with her fingertips, waiting.

"When?" he asks finally.

"In something like six-ish months" she admits and her blush is the most perfect thing he had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, the timeline is becoming reeeeaally weird.  
> But I can't bring myself to mark brutally "flashback" everywhere!


	23. Moira, Hurting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik talks some more.

**Moira, Hurting**

Erik was quite sure the camera was no longer working, but they managed to find a position in which he was obscuring the view of her face just in case someone turned it on again.

It didn't mean that she had a lot to say, at least not more than just one question.

"It was a girl" he answered finally, after she had stared at him silently for more than an hour. "It was a perfect, tiny little girl. They've shown me. I'm so sorry, I know it should have been you and Charles, if anyone, but they've shown her to me, because, obviously, procedures. I asked them to... I told them I needed to wait for you to wake up. So she's waiting. You don't need to make any decision right now. This can wait until you are all better and can... consider what next."

Moira's throat constricted and she had to close her eyes, just in order not to have to look at the man beside her.

Her _daughter_. The child she was supposed to teach to walk, to speak, to count and to sing. The one that was supposed to be the best thing that happened to her and Charles, despite all that stupidity between them. The one that was supposed to herald in the new generation of actual cooperation between humans and mutants. Who was supposed to be the symbol of possibility.

She took a shuddering breath.

"I can't think about it now" she said finally. "I can't even _process_ this all properly. I don't understand what happened. Did we do something wrong? Did we... did we make it happen, somehow?"

He made a small, sad sound.

"Everyone asks themselves the same question" he paused and grimaced. "After all, that's the same question that I asked myself, not that long ago. There was nothing that you did to cause this. It just happened. You have to live through it and process it. Just don't let anyone tell you that you should "just get over it finally" or something equally stupid. Everyone grieves in their own way and in their own time. But" he added with a small shrug "if you ever need someone to just tell you they've been there - or in the more or less vicinity - then you know where to find me. I can guarantee I will never tell you that you're overreacting or that you should move on."

She nodded slowly. He knew loss, enough for a few lifetimes. She didn't know details, but every move he made, from the way he spoke to the nurses and doctors, to fluffing up her friggin pillows, all screamed of experience with the hospitals. And the broken way he spoke about _her_ child was not all pose. Even before he started talking, she was sure he _knew_ something of what she was going through.

She felt holding his hand for just a moment may be a good way of expressing her understanding. It seemed to cheer him up, just a bit.

They spent part of the afternoon in quiet company, as she tried to read and failed and he tried filling in the crossword and ended up swearing quietly in German about exact spelling of some words.

She gave up when the newspaper folded in half and hit her on the forehead for the third time. She tried changing the position, but with her hands rather expectedly not working as well as they used to, and with all the IVs she was still connected to, it was not the easiest task.

"It hurts to lay down" she hissed, trying to move slightly higher on her pillows. "And it hurts to move. And it hurts to think, sometimes."

He helped her to ease herself down on the pillows.

"The last part may be Charles' fault, actually. He mindblasted all the sensitives - except Jean, because she keeps her blocks up all the time - and you were linked to him, from what he said. So you got some echo, too. Even the non-sensitives, like me, got hit. The whole mansion has been talking weird ever since."

"What?!" she rose on one elbow to look at him closer.

"Yes. Would be actually rather funny, if not for the... general situation. Every kid, every teacher, every guest. All speaking with that slightly posh British accent - well, depending on their level of sensitivity and proximity to Charles. Just everyone with their own voices, of course. And own vocabulary. Very weird when you hear the younger kids bickering."

"So _that's_ why" she murmured in wonder.

"What?"

She made a small fluttering gesture with her left hand.

"When I woke up, you were speaking to me all the time. And I heard the wrong voice and wrong pronunciation with the _right_ accent. I was scared like hell."

He blinked. It was like watching a statue crumble. Erik-frigging-Lehnsherr blinked and looked at her in a slightly broken way.

"I heard _something like_ Charles, but it didn't sound _exactly_ like him. And I couldn't see you, remember? It felt like some goddamned episode of Twilight Zone, the kind when someone wakes up and find their family replaced with some totally different people. I thought there was something wrong with my head, actually" she sighed. "And the fact that everyone was calling me by a wrong surname didn't exactly help."

He rubbed his face and nodded slowly.

"I can see that now" he said softly. "We didn't think about it at the time, and the documents Hank created for us were kind of playing on my pronunciation - even with the remnants of Charles' blast, I still speak mostly like I normally do - to make us more believable and throw whoever would be after us off the scent. He was in a hurry and 'Stein' was the first German-sounding name he could think of."

She felt a sudden tremor of dread.

"Hank. How is Hank? If everyone was hit…"

Erik laughed, the sound rough and rather sad.

"Actually, Hank was damned lucky, and I must say, some of the students seemed a bit envious. He had given himself his shots just mere half hour before the… the attack. So he was, well, basic human. And because he doesn't have your link with Charles" he reached and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear "well, he got away with just a slight headache. He was up and functional in ten minutes. Luckily for us."

She looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Are you using our students to fabricate fake documents?"

He shrugged.

"First, Hank is no longer a student. Second, he volunteered. Third, would you rather have us corrupt the innocent scientist just a bit, or have whole CIA visit your bedside, had I used your real papers?"

She cringed and had to fight off the cold feeling coiling inside her.

"Yeah. I'll have to buy him some action figures to undo the damage we've made, but I suppose corrupting Hank just a bit is better than having my ex-coworkers track me down when I don't have my sidearm with me."

They weren't exactly easy with each other, but the feeling of having him present, sitting in that chair did seem somewhat comforting. Like a bit of home away from home. He fiddled with his glasses - glasses! - and snorted over news articles, making her ask him, from time to time, to read things aloud. The voice - still wrong, still not what she would have wanted to hear - lulled her to sleep.

* * *

On the fourth day, he brought her her bag, with a bit of a sheepish expression.

"I asked Jean to pack a few of your own things" he explained in embarrassment. "But I forgot to bring it yesterday. She said she tried her best and that she is sorry she looked in the bottom drawer. Whatever that means. And she packed your toothbrush and some cosmetics she and Ororo picked from your bathroom."

He managed also to bring a few scientific journals that he thought would suit her - and she appreciated the gesture, despite the fact that her concentration seemed to be shot to hell. She quietly blamed the drugs pumped all the time into her system, but she couldn't get herself to ask the nurses to lower the dose - she wasn't quite ready yet for the possible withdrawal and sudden lack of whatever it was that was keeping her from breaking down right there, in front of Erik.

* * *

She checked the contents of the bag when he finally left for the evening - again, kissing her forehead in such an - not endearing, but… - manner. Once she removed the top layer consisting of a nightdress, a small bag of underwear and her travel pillow, she discovered a large number of very, very trashy - and very obviously well-read - romance novels. Specifically, medical romance. Each of them sporting a busty heroine in a nurse's uniform or a hunky doctor with his shirt unbuttoned to show an indecent amount of chest hair.

When nurse Harrison came in to check her temperature, she found Moira laughing silently, her face wet with tears.

"My God! Moira! What….?"

She couldn't really force herself to stop. She tried explaining the whole situation, she really did. She just couldn't make sense of it herself.

"All-right, Moira. I'm adding just a tiny bit of morphine to your mix, and something that will help you calm down right now. You will damage your heart if you keep this up" she murmured quickly. "Now, can you tell me, what is wrong? Is it one of the incisions? Does it hurt anywhere?"

In just a few seconds Moira felt herself relaxing - not naturally, but still, the drugs helped wonderfully - and she could finally formulate her thoughts, if slowly.

"My students" she gasped. "Oh, dear. They… they packed a bag for me, and I'm almost sure Erik didn't even look inside before he delivered it…" she gestured towards the small stack of books. "He will strangle them if he sees that!"

Nurse Harrison picked up the first book from the top.

"Ouch. I see. Interesting" she turned it to look at the back cover. "Innovative approach to laryngology, I must say. But, considering your current situation, why would they send you this kind of..."

"They are such good girls - they probably just thought I'd need something to cheer me up. However inappropriate it seems" Moira explained, wiping her cheeks. "I'm not sure I'm in the mood for reading them, but I just… "

Nurse Harrison wiped her glasses and put them on again.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to borrow one or two" she smiled crookedly. "This wing is gloomy as they come, and the girls in the duty room could use a giggle."

Moira made a welcoming gesture.

"Just make sure they get back here. From the way the spines look, girls seem to love them... I need to have a little talk with my students regarding the right kind of literature… But, on the other hand" she picked up the topmost book. "It's not like I can focus on anything else at the moment."

* * *

The mood swings weren't completely nullified by the medicines they had added to the mix to keep her calm. Mostly, she felt disconnected from everything around her, and even the thoughts of what exactly had happened seemed a bit distant. Still, despite all the medication coursing through her system, sometimes, just sometimes, every few heartbeats, the pain was more than she could take. She tried very hard to think of something else in between.

* * *

The books actually helped. Just a tiny bit.

She decided she would have to buy girls some new ones and hide them well so that the boys - and in that category she included _all_ the male population of the school - wouldn't find them. Maybe she could claim one of the rooms next to her office as a girl-only library and decorate it with flowers to ensure that no proper testosterone-driven male ever crossed the doorstep.

They could hide a stash of cookies somewhere there and discuss stuff that everyone was too shy to cover in general classes.

She smiled slightly.

_It will get better. Someday. The kids still need me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what do you think? When/where are they?


	24. Jean, Admiring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through Jean's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have 14 more chapters (including the grand finale) and still will need 3-4 connectors between to make sure it all goes smoothly. That means a total of 42, if nothing interesting happens.

Jean knew that the Professor was somewhat disappointed that he was not her favourite teacher. Despite the fact that they shared a large part of their powers and that he was obviously her _mentor_ , still, her favourite teacher was the unassuming human she attached herself to on her very first day. She did try, very valiantly, to hide her fascination with the woman, but it was shortly obvious to everyone - except the object herself - that Jean had become the first acolyte in the church of Moira.

Professor didn't understand it, but he accepted it - after all, he too was very much in love with Moira - and Jean never managed to understand how he could be so _blind_ to something that obvious.

Moira's brain was brilliant. She had certain _calm_ and _softness_ about herself, which made her a sure magnet for any brokenhearted, tired, abused or bruised psionic. When Jean tried to explain it to Marcia - who was otherwise a very fine girl of electrical persuasion - she found English not enough for the purpose. She couldn't quite reflect the comfort, balance, glow and quiet that characterised her impressions of Moira's mind.

'Beautiful mind' was what Professor had called it once - she picked it up by accident from one of their sessions - and it was a fraction of that, but she saw so much more in Moira that at some point she started suspecting that the Professor was not as appreciative of Moira's wonderfulness as she deserved.

She noticed, however, the obvious influence Moira had on the Professor and she saw the same exact thing that she knew happened to her. The moment they came into close contact - being in the same room was enough - he relaxed, his thoughts becoming calmer and his reactions less harsh. Maybe he chalked it up to simply being chivalrous towards his lady love, but Jean _saw_ how his brain chemistry reacted to Moira's presence. She knew the same thing happened to her and she craved it, especially after more rigorous sessions with the Professor. It was like being held close when she was sick as a child.

She had her suspicions regarding the underlying cause of her own response - and why it was only Moira, and no other human or mutant, that possessed this quality. She knew, from various flashes of memories, from remarks dropped by older students - and non-students, like Alex - that Moira had known the Professor for a long time and that they had _a history_. Specifically, as Alex spilled once by accident, the Professor had messed with Moira's memories (there was a significant layer of 'idiot' sentiment in Alex when he thought about that time) and now - probably because of that - they were linked on such a level that they even felt each other's headaches, not to mention emotions and needs. Jean's guess was that Moira's brain had actually adjusted itself to the Professor's and so, by extension, became so _attractive_ to other telepaths. The other part was, she had to admit, that Moira had rudimentary blocks - again, probably due to prolonged exposure to the Professor - and so her mind was _quiet_. With most other people Jean had to shield herself in order not to read their active thoughts. When with Moira, she could loosen the control slightly, simply because Moira never _leaked_.

Despite being fascinated by Moira's brain on the purely physiological level, she never ignored the actual woman, and came to admire her character, her knowledge, tenacity and stubbornness. Also, the very fact that she threw her lot with the mutant side of the great conflict spoke a lot about Moira's sense of justice. The older-sister-or-aunt mode Moira switched into with traumatised, scared, lonely or sick kids was something Jean admired, considering that half of these kids could have easily killed or maimed a standard human in a moment of panic.

And _nobody_ could ignore the obviously burning passion that Professor and Moira shared, sometimes rather directly, in accidentally unshielded moments. Jean even considered at some point asking the Professor kindly to put better blocks on them both, but she couldn't bring herself to embarrass any of them and simply threw her own blocks up whenever she felt a slight wave of excitement going her way. Still, it was nice to catch a small wave of pure _love_ somewhere in the back of one's brain. She could only hope for a similar relationship, someday.

* * *

The attack threw them all off their course. None harder than the Professor, but Jean felt that she might have been affected almost as strongly, if not in such an obvious way. She found herself suddenly devoid of direction, which made her slightly uncomfortable - she depended on the Professor and Moira to give a certain structure to her life and aims, and now, with one gone and the other busy with Raven (or worrying), she had to focus thrice as much on managing her powers, ensuring everyone's comfort and safety and taking decisions of the ethical kind - including the limitations of usage of her telepathy for resolving students' issues.

And, of course, she sympathised with the Professor, who was seen at oddest hours, riding silently down the corridors of the mansion, unable to sleep. She knew very well that he mostly slept on the couch in his office - having found him there on several occasions, asleep in rumpled clothes, tracks of tears down his face.

He never cried in front of the students. He kept the stiff upper lip - Alex called it that - and he tried to make sure everyone was taken care of. Despite the fact that he was falling apart inside in major ways, he kept up the facade of perfect ease and calm.

Only she knew when in the middle of the night he curled up on the floor of _their_ bedroom, silently crying into Moira's pillow. Only she felt the moments when he considered very carefully various options of doing away with himself, should the next news Erik brought back be bad. Only she felt his deep, crushing disappointment every time Magneto arrived home late in the evening - more and more resembling an unkempt dock worker - and delivered yet another description of what had happened with Moira _this time_.

She felt slightly bruised inside every time the Professor let his feelings coil and then burst - she built her finest shields and blocks to limit her exposure, but still she peeked above the wall from time to time, just to check how he was doing.

* * *

Scott was doing better, at least. He got over the trauma of having blown up random objects during their rescue mission and he was working on dealing with the fact that Alex had, in fact, survived the blast, if not in perfect condition. Scott was on his way to becoming the most devoted fan of Peter, despite Peter's discomfort with the idea. The tightly-wound emotions swirling inside Scott were getting easier and easier to deal with - with Jean's help he managed to counter part of his problems, including the freshly added fear of losing Alex, acquired after just a month or so of actually having a brother.

Part of this was mitigated by Alex threatening to beat up Scott, should he find the youngster sneaking into his room again "to check if Alex is still breathing".

Jean knew very well that Alex found this endearing, but tried to make Scott stop fussing about him and find something of his own to do. Not only from the pure goodness of his heart, but also due to slight twinges of conscience - he didn't want to expose Scott to the ways _he_ dealt with his trauma, both physical and mental.

It was funny to watch Alex's brain on the "good stuff" as he called it, but Jean shared Alex's determination not to give Scott an early exposure to the world of recreational pharmacy. Especially considering his high susceptibility to copying everything Alex did.

She was happy to distract Scott when Alex felt the need to isolate himself with a joint, and if said distraction sometimes led to extremely stupid hijinks, well. That was the cost of living in Xavier's School.

* * *

"We need her back" Alex said, looking into his coffee. He had had a particularly bad night, which left Jean also slightly cranky. Her link to Scott was making her more sensitive to Alex, despite all the blocks she built.

Scott mumbled an affirmative into his cocoa.

Peter seemed unimpressed.

"Why, actually? I mean, I get it, my... Erik is all seriously invested in her treatment and stuff, but..."

"We need her superpower" Jean explained around a bite of her sandwich.

Ororo frowned and stirred her own cocoa a bit more.

"I thought Miss MacTaggert was _not_ a mutant" she offered, hesitantly.

"She isn't" Hank entered the small kitchen. "Still, she does have a few superpowers."

Ororo pursed her lips.

"How can a basic human have superpowers?"

Hank snorted.

"They are varied and very much needed. One of them is 'not taking anyone's shit'."

Jean nodded and raised her cup in a toast to Hank.

"Another" Alex added "is 'kicking mutant butt, especially telepathic one'."

Scott choked on a gulp of his cocoa, so they spent the next few minutes pounding him on the back.

"Yet another is 'making children start lessons on time'" Erik's calm, cold voice provided. "But I'm almost sure I also possess _that_ one."

_He apparently does_ Jean mused, hurrying to the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think about Moira's superpowers :)


	25. Moira, Healing

She couldn't say Erik _grew on her_ , because she'd known him for over twenty years (on one hand, because on the other it was just a few weeks, split by these twenty years), and that was a long time to suddenly discover you start liking a fellow human. Or mutant. However she found herself seeing much more of _Erik_ in him and much less of _Magneto_. And Erik seemed to be actually an acceptably reasonable person, most of the time. They both - and Charles - shared the final aim - mutants being accepted in the society on equal rights. They didn't share the approach and the methods - but she suspected that his past and the powers he possessed made him look at the world in slightly different manner than, say, Charles.

He was also very obviously traumatised by whatever that was that had happened to his family. She could commiserate, in a way. Still, she didn't dare to ask for any details. She was much too grateful for his company to do such an insensitive thing.

The news from school came every day - the children were studying, despite the chaos and long recovery of some of the teachers. There was work being done on a new workshop, for kids with less x-men candidate mutations, so that they could help Hank with his projects. There was a pool, and a sauna being added to the mansion.

_Mmm, sauna. Wonder who thought that one up._

They managed to work out a kind of language to allow them to discuss school matters more openly. Slowly, sentence by sentence, they built a vocabulary and a dictionary of signals to convey specific meanings.

* * *

"Girls asked about you. Jean sends her regards and says she managed to finally get that last song down pat. Charles set her some new exercises and she's torturing the piano again."

_Jean managed to control some more of her powers - whatever that was this time - and Charles is giving her new tasks to exercise detailed control._

* * *

"Tell Alex to make sure all kids get properly graded in P.E., according to their progress. Don't let him be too strict."

_Remind Alex that every kid has some limitations and if I hear that he tried to introduce a boot camp training regimen again, I_ _'ll hit him._

* * *

"Alex and Scott turned out to be sunburn prone" he said, rubbing his forehead. "Hank is working on some better sunscreen for them. They spend most day at home for the time being, but they are getting really restless, so Jean is teaching them meditation"

She blinked.

"How come they never noticed it before?"

He shrugged.

"Probably onset of hormonal changes, in Scott's case, and then we had a look at Alex's reaction - it's much weaker than Scott's, but still there. And it's causing them exactly the same type of ache" he massaged the back of his skull in a casual gesture.

She opened her eyes wide.

_That explains a lot! - Alex and Scott are energised by the sun and Jean is draining their surplus, while Hank is working on some type of insulation for them. Wow._

"Alex is probably too independent to come to anyone and say he has a problem with a bit of sun. It's a good thing that you checked him after Scott reported sunburn."

"Actually, it was Alex who reported Scott, and then admitted having similar problems."

She smiled, rather widely.

"He's growing so responsible - he takes Scott's good so seriously. I think having to take care of a younger brother will stabilise him a lot."

_Having someone with similar powers, who also can't control them very well will give Alex some output for his worries. And if he focuses on teaching Scott, he may even gain some control over his own power, too._

* * *

"Please check if Scott is keeping up with his remedial classes. Don't let Alex drag him off to fix the bikes, or something equally crazy."

_Make sure Scott stays focused, despite the hero-worship he seems to be suffering from._

* * *

"Charles is still a bit oversensitive after the last bout of flu, so he's staying home just to avoid risk of catching something new."

_Charles' telepathy is shot to hell and he needs to avoid crowds._

* * *

"Ask Jean to make sure all children read their assignments and check if they have no questions. Just don't let her read it aloud to them, they are supposed to be reading, not listening."

_Make sure Jean doesn_ _'t try to mother every new kid too much, they need to become independent at some point. Also, she needs time to herself._

* * *

"Raven's better after her cold, so she can get the kids to do the laps, even if she's not yet running with them."

_Raven is stable, but not yet well enough to leave the house._

* * *

"If the children are good during the weekend, the stash of cookies is on the top shelf, first bookcase in the library."

_If the children are good during the weekend, the stash of cookies is on the top shelf, first bookcase in the library. Just make sure they also eat appropriate meals, before, and that you two secure some for yourselves._

* * *

"Charles asked after you and told me to make sure you'll be back soon."

_Charles is a miserable sod without you, so please, get better before I have to kill him just to stay sane._

"Tell Charles I said 'hi'."

_Tell Charles I love him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... any thoughts?


	26. Peter, Embarassed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like Peter and I hope I'll manage to write him properly :)

He had to admit he had been pussyfooting around. He had managed to make at least three different plans per day, detailing how, where, when and in exactly what words he Would Tell Erik. None of them ever came to fruition, either because of presence of others, or because Peter found himself mute once the presence of others was removed.

It was an unpleasant sensation, that lack of words and inability to push the sound out - he had never felt that conflicted about anything since his mutation had started showing. In his quick state he thought faster than the people around him - he had to, to analyse the trajectories of objects and consider what and how he was potentially affecting, but that never took much more of his brainpower than average person used when rollerskating in a crowd. That left a lot of said brainpower - running at top speed possible - to consider all angles and options.

Still, he came up with nothing once faced with _his father_.

At the end, it was Jean who did it, quite by accident. He couldn't even be angry at her. He definitely deserved the "fullnaming" as the kids called it.

"Secondnaming" was something Professor applied to Scott and Alex, when they were being idiots. Cold "Alexander Christopher, let go of your brother this instant" or "Scott Thomas, get off that roof right now" worked much better than plain single name.

Some of them earned themselves a fullnaming and there was that day when everyone learned that Raven's second name was, in fact, Patricia, for some unfanthomable reason.

_"Raven Patricia Darkholme! I'll have your blue hide if I find that you ate in the library one more time!"_

_Raven looked at Charles with reproach._

_"Really? Fullnaming, just because of this?"_

_"Because of the mayo!"_

_"Ouch" she grimaced guiltily. "Yeah, that might have been a mistake."_

_"Over. My. Desk. All. Over. My. Desk!"_

_Everyone winced._

_Raven sighed, got up and fetched a rag from the sink._

_"All right, all right..."_

So it shouldn't have come as a surprise that Peter got himself fullnamed at some point. Actually, the surprising part was that it hadn't happened earlier. Also, the fact that it was Jean was expected. She took to mimicking the Professor's methods, especially in the view of Moira's absence and Charles' unavailability.

Also, she was one of the limited group of people who actually cared what happened to Peter Matthew Maximoff.

And that was what she said after he attempted to actually run up a tree one day.

In retrospective, he should have expected this, because running up things like trees was not exactly what his mutation helped with, but he thought it would be an interesting experiment to make. At least that was his explanation for Jean, when she finally had to take a breath and made a break in scolding him for being an idiot and a bad example to the kids ( _'and Scott!'_ she added quietly, shooting a glance towards the younger boy).

Her face said plainly she was unimpressed with his reasoning. She added a very coldly voiced threat to call his mother and ask her for a second opinion, if he was unhappy with Jean's interpretation of the situation.

Erik's face was a completely different story.

Later, Scott said that "Magneto looked as if someone had hit him with a brick" and Kurt said something long and descriptive in German, making some additional wide gestures.

Anyway, that was the way the mighty Erik Lehnsherr learnt that the annoying non-student was the son of Marya Maximoff. Which, after certain simple calculations, led him to a quick conclusion that said annoying individual, namely Peter Matthew Maximoff, was his son, too.

Peter acknowledged later to his Jean that he should have dealt with that long before, but really, who just comes up to the most powerful mutant on the playground and tells him that he's a father of a grownup son? Considering the man's recent loss of a family? Peter might have agreed that he was being a bit stupid about it, but starting a familial relationship with a long-lost parent was probably better done if said parent wasn't quite so bruised emotionally.

So. In the end, it all happened without his direct participation. Or at least not the kind he had been planning.

And now Peter had to honestly admit that was being very, very skittish around Erik yet again.

Because even though there was no person on Earth that could catch up with Peter - including Jean - there was definitely someone who could _stop_ him, at least as long as Peter didn't decide to ditch the steel-studded leather jacket.

And considering the looks Erik sometimes threw his way, he was readying himself for a little talk with Peter.

Peter could only hope it was not going to be about birds and bees because he had already learnt from Hank's biology textbooks that some of these creatures were up to some seriously weird shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea what Raven's second name would be, but I needed one for Charles to use :)


	27. Erik, Weary

Erik never really paid much attention to what was happening in the school gardens, unless he was called to resolve some technical issue in the workshop or one of the children was hurt. Only sometimes he sat on one of the benches, after coming back from the hospital, and watched the kids play basketball in the evenings - which was when Scott and Alex could finally safely join others and the youngest kids were not yet herded off to their beds.

Parking his car and unpacking some shopping he had promised Charles he wasn't really listening to the shouts coming from the general area of the pool until everything suddenly went very, very silent and the only voice he could hear was Jean's - not shouting, but definitely significantly augmented.

"...you idiot! You absolute, incredible cretin!"

Someone giggled nervously.

"Because really, I understand that your life apparently doesn't mean all that much to you, but I'm telling you, Peter Matthew Maximoff, that it means a lot to _me_! And there is at least a handful of people who would feel rather _devastated_ if you managed to kill yourself with such a stupid stunt!"

Erik rounded the corner of the house and stood there, looking in appreciation as Jean held Peter down to the ground with just an outstretched hand and her piercing gaze.

"I just... I just thought it would be interesting to see if it worked" the grounded man managed to say. "You know, an experiment in how my mutation..."

"I don't even want to hear this" she combed some loose hair off her face with her free hand. "Just what kind of example do you think you are setting for all the kids around you? They _worship_ you, you idiot. How would you feel if one of them got hurt because they tried to do something equally idiotic? Even better - how would you feel if I asked your _mother_ for her input on this? Should I maybe call her now, at work? 'Ms Marya Maximoff? Yes? I have your son here and he's just done the _stupidest thing ever_ , trying to bloody climb a tree at top speed! What do you think I should tell him now?'"

Erik felt a little, slight flutter in his heart just before his brain caught up with what his ears told it.

Marya Maximoff.

Peter Matthew Maximoff.

_What may the kid be, twenty-six? Tops._

_Great heavens_.

Jean was crying now and had removed the force keeping Peter down, allowing him stand up, the kid untypically for himself looking uncertain and somehow bashful.

Erik tried breathing, because he had apparently somehow forgotten to and there were tiny black spots dancing on the borders of his vision.

_Born in late fifties then._

And as Peter managed to pull Jean into an awkward embrace, turning his face into her red tresses, Erik's brain slowly matched his own profile with the boy's. _Goddammit_.

* * *

The kid was his son.

He had to take a few deeper breaths at that thought.

The very next thing he thought was _We are getting old_ , because really, Peter was a grownup, at least according to the calendar.

The _next_ one after that was a rather expressive Polish expletive of _Kurwa_ , because that all meant that suddenly both Raven and him had children (ones which they hadn't brought up) and _Charles_ didn't. Except that _Charles_ was the one that actually knew about the pregnancy (unlike him about Peter) and planned most certainly to raise the kid (unlike Raven).

_Jasna i ci_ _ężka cholera, niech to szlag trafi_.

Sometimes he felt that curses in Polish had some more _gravitas_ than in other languages. Probably due to the sheer amount of 'r'.

* * *

The next few days were even weirder than ones before - he could now understand Peter's previous nervous behaviour, when the man seemed to cycle between being overly enthusiastic about Erik's company and completely reticent minutes later. Obviously, the kid knew - Marya had probably told him at some point... _Damn! That's what he was trying to..._

* * *

"Are you mad?"

He had never even noticed Peter approaching him, so now he took a second or two to consider what his son was wearing, just for future reference. The most specific things were the goggles - with metal-filled frames - the jacket, with all the studs, and the walkman.

The boy - the young man - was restless. Even the two seconds Erik spent analysing the 'metal signature' was too much for him.

"No, I'm not" he managed to choke out. "I'm just... Was it what Raven meant, back there, in Cairo? That I have more family than I think?"

Peter pushed his hands into his pockets and stood there, blinking nervously.

"I suppose so" he said finally. "But she... I think, I just think, she also thinks that she and Professor are like your family, too. And now, I suppose, also Miss Moira."

Erik rubbed his face, trying to find something reasonable to say about that last part.

"Also" Peter swallowed but still had obvious trouble getting his throat to work. "I also have a sister."

Erik shot him a look over his fingers, which probably may have looked quite funny without the glasses - _stupid glasses_ \- but was definitely surprised.

"I suppose I could count her as extended family" he said weakly. "Not sure how to call my son's half-sister, but..."

"Ah" Peter grimaced. "Half-sister, yes. One of these, I have that, too. But the one I meant is my _twin_ sister."

Erik suddenly felt that his legs had turned to pudding and he found himself actually sitting on the hall floor.

"A what?"

"Yeah, that was what I was afraid of" Peter cringed. "She doesn't really know about you, I mean, she knows you exist - meaning, that the guy our mother had dated is alive. But I never told her of what mum told me, and my deduction about you, so she won't, like, show on your doorstep, demanding a visit. I thought I'd rather tell you first. Considering."

"Considering."

"I mean, like, man, you have lost a wife and a daughter, yes, we all knew - in general, but the Professor can't really keep a secret from Jean in a long run, and she told me... so. I didn't want you to feel like I'm trying to push Wanda suddenly on you. So I didn't tell her, yet."

"Thank you" he said weakly and decided he needed a drink. Or two.

He didn't really know what drained him more - visiting Moira, with her random jumping from "quite OK" to "completely down and crying under her blankets", or Peter, who was - Erik could see it now - so eager to make the connection but so scared of forcing the issue, or Charles, who had not only suffered the blow quite well known to Erik (despite the obvious differences of age of the children they had lost) but was now constantly suffering, day to day, due to Moira's unstable condition.

"Can you..." he pinched his nose. "Can you tell me something about your sisters? Both of them?"

* * *

_Motormouth_ he finally managed to identify the English name for the way Peter could talk of everything and nothing. _Gadu_ _ła_.

It was obvious that the boy loved both of his sisters - being much closer to Wanda, his twin, but also very protective of Anya, their younger half-sister. This was endearing and Erik could appreciate his son's devotion to the girls, but it also made his heart ache and his throat constrict.

As they walked along the drive, he had to lean on a tree and breathe a few times deeply to fight off the tears.

"Erik?" of course, Peter immediately noticed everything.

He shook his head mutely, forcing himself to inhale slowly.

"I just thought that Nina would have loved you" he whispered softly. "She would have loved it here, in general. I just..."

Peter stayed still for long seconds when Erik slowly recovered.

"Everything reminds me of her" he said finally. "And I mean _everything_. I can barely get out of my bed in the morning. I hear the children playing and I listen for her voice. I hear Jean and Ororo talking about school and I consider what Nina may have to prepare for the next day. I look at Charles and... He can't even _see_ Moira now, and it feels almost like..."

"And now me" Peter added soberly. "At least I suppose I don't resemble her, like, in my face or stuff."

Erik chuckled weakly.

"No, Nina was all her mother in that area. Maybe, later, had she had a chance to grow up, she might have started looking more - a bit more - like me. But I really wouldn't wish it on a girl."

"Wanda doesn't" Peter provided, cautiously. "She looks nothing like me. She's like, dark, and her hair has these red streaks, but her eyes are normal brown. Mine just went grey in few days, once I started running, and my hair too, but she's, you know, normally coloured."

He nodded, not really knowing what to say.

"Oh!" Peter perked up. "Would you want to see her picture? I brought some photos from my Mom's last week, because she wanted me to clear out the basement."

Erik blinked, unsure.

"I..." he shrugged. "Why not. At least I'll know her if I ever meet her."

He felt a sudden absence of his son's metallic signa... And Peter was back.

"Here. This is Mom - last year, Anya's birthday - and next to her is Wanda."

Erik blinked.

"Well" he said slowly. "Should I ever have any doubts, all I'd need is this photo - she _is_ my daughter."

Peter frowned as Erik slowly untucked a banged-up locket from jacket pocket.

"These, Peter, are your grandparents."

The girl in the locket, although in black and white, looked like an exact copy of Wanda. The photo was slightly grainy, but there was no denying it.

"Wow."

Erik carefully closed the clasp and hid the whole necklace back in his breast pocket.

"I will ask a local photo shop if they can pick out these and make reasonable copies" he said, licking his lips. "If you want ones, obviously."

Peter tapped his left foot nervously.

"Sure. There is a studio a few blocks from here, I saw it" he said finally. "I will go and talk to Wanda about it - if you wish, of course - and the photos may help."

"If you think it's a good tactic..."

"I'd rather have a proof prepared, because otherwise she'll just blast me for telling her stupid stories."

Erik frowned.

_What did he say?_

"Blast?"

Peter smiled, suddenly bright like a small, silver sun.

"I didn't tell you? Wanda is a witch."


	28. Moira and Erik: Determined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better, then they get worse and then they get a bit weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning: I suppose some people won't like the way the story goes from here. I promise, it will all make (more or less) sense at the end. Hopefully. As much as anything may make sense in the X-Men reality.  
> Let me know how you see it.  
> If you don't like the relationship mix from now on... well, I'm afraid it is what it is.

She knew her room by heart at that point. The small window somewhere behind her, the machines around her - fortunately, some of them had been removed or turned off by now, as her condition improved - her bed, the chairs next to it - more than ever needed, as Erik had been the only visitor - the sparse decorations, the nightstand, the coat rack, the shelf on which nurses placed all items they brought in. There wasn't much to learn, but still, she made a daily review of the room just to give her brain something to do. She had run out of reading material very quickly, even including re-reads of the ridiculous medical romances that Jean had sent, and she was on the verge of asking nurses for some girly magazine from the waiting room, just to give herself something to focus on.

She could hope that Erik would bring something, too, but didn't want to burden him with worrying for her mental state too much. Still, she could probably ask him for some of her books from home.

_I will. As soon as he comes back_.

* * *

There was always some kind of sign of him when she woke up, even if he himself was absent. This time it was his gray umbrella, hanging from the back of a chair and a rolled-up newspaper on the bedside table. His coat wasn't in the room, as far as she could see, so she made an educated guess and deduced that he had probably just gone for a smoke.

"Good morning, Mrs Stein" a young nurse came in with her tray. "Your husband went outside - we told him to get himself something to eat. The poor man looks positively starved, and the hospital cafeteria is nothing to write home about. Now, the doc said you're allowed to eat something with more substance today, so we've upgraded you from thin porridge to... thick porridge."

Moira couldn't stop the snort and the nurse smiled in agreement.

"Exactly. Now, you are also allowed to drink actual proper tea today, so in celebration of the fact I've brought a box you can choose from" she offered Moira a big container of mixed tea bags.

"Do you have any Earl Grey?" Moira asked finally, after searching in vain for a moment.

"Sure, there should be this green label on it... Oh, here" the nurse fished out one of the bags. "I'll prepare it for you now, and once you've eaten, you can also have some jelly. There's strawberry and raspberry, or so they say. I don't see any difference between them."

"Strawberry, please" Moira smiled as the energetic young woman marched away with her chosen teabag, and then focused on eating the bland porridge - yes, at least this time it had some substance and maybe a hint of salt.

In a minute or two the nurse was back and placed the cup on her tray, accompanied by a bowl of red jelly.

"I will make notes about your stats while you're eating, and once you're done, we can check if you are up to getting out of that bed."

Moira's eyes widened at the suggestion.

"Already?" she asked between spoons.

"Well, doc Manson said you should start at least trying to walk, because you've been in bed for so long. And with the stitches out and the incisions all healed nicely, why shouldn't you?"

"I…" she trailed off, looking at Erik's umbrella. "I am a bit afraid. I got so sick, I was sick for so long. What if I break something just by standing? I don't want to set it all back…"

"But if you don't stand, you won't be able to leave" the nurse said sensibly. "And then your poor husband will lose his position - whatever he is doing, they must be missing him at work - and where will you be?"

Moira sipped her tea and delighted in the calm, rich taste.

"I…" she couldn't put her thoughts together. "I don't know what to do. I can't keep him from work any longer - the school is down two teachers with both of us absent - but I know he is afraid that something will happen to me when he's not watching. It's a miracle you even managed to convince him to leave for a meal..."

The nurse patted her arm.

"Now, now, Mrs Stein - Moira? Can I just call you Moira? I am Annie. And I will be helping you to re-learn the fabulous skill of standing up. Eat your jelly and we'll start working on getting you vertical."

* * *

She was exhausted. Just eating her breakfast and standing up on her own legs took it out of her. She was drifting away, curled on her side, when she heard the door open.

"Moira?"

She could barely acknowledge his presence. Even noticing it was an effort.

"Moira, what is wrong?"

* * *

After all this time, his hands no longer felt incorrect, actually. They just became a different type of correct. And now he was hauling her up, into half-sitting position and she no longer felt the surprise and revulsion of the first days.

"Moira?" he shook her shoulders slightly.

"Ah" she gasped. "The exercises. PT. I think I must have… kids say "space out" now, don't they?"

His lips weren't really made for smiling, unlike Charles', but the thin smirk suited them just fine.

"Yea, this is what they say. What exercises?"

"They made me stand up" she complained.

Now he laughed.

"And that was all it took to wear out the incredible Moira? I will be sure to remember that."

"Well, if I don't exercise, I won't get discharged and then you'll be stuck driving out here all the time, unless you finally get smarter and get back to work."

He looked at her seriously.

"And leave you here, alone? The boys would have my guts if I ever did it."

She laughed quietly.

"Of course they would" she gasped and coughed. And coughed again. And again. And then she couldn't really cough, because there was no more air coming into her lungs.

There were black spots dancing in front of her eyes.

And suddenly there was movement and someone was putting a mask over her face.

"Breathe, Moira. Breathe, dammit."

* * *

"It's asthma" the pulmonologist said. "And really, really, I have no idea how this…" she slammed the clipboard on the table. "I'm sorry, Mr Stein. I understand you want to take your wife back home, but at least a week more. We have to get medicines adjusted for her, which will take a few days, and then we need to make sure nothing new comes up. All this worries me" she admitted finally. "She's been here for six weeks, starting with coma and the things that she went through then, and now this asthma… We can't really say that she will ever properly recover. You may have to accept the fact that she may be bedridden - and that you will need to arrange for prolonged care for her. Probably hire a nurse, or physiotherapist. Or both."

"This is not an issue. Moira will get all the care she needs. I just need you to write exactly what has to be done and I will have it all set by the time she's ready to come home."

She looked at him doubtfully, but then she picked up her books and left, promising him a full description of her suggestions for the next day.

* * *

They only allowed her to take the mask off after three days of pumping her full of steroids, anti-histamines and anti-inflammation cocktails. There were small grooves in her face where the mask had cut into her skin. He was quite angry about it, for some reason he couldn't identify specifically.

* * *

Moira looked at Erik as he stood by the door, watching the nurses running in all directions.

"Erik."

She almost never addressed him by his name - where he used hers liberally. It still felt slightly stilted for her. But it got his attention.

"Do you need anything?" he sat by the bed, leaning slightly towards her, tentative ghost of a smile turning his lips up.

She breathed, once, twice…

"I need you to hold me, for just a moment" she said finally, not really looking him in the eyes.

"Wha…" he stuttered.

"I know it's not something that you'd normally do…" she shrugged. "I just..."

Still, in seconds there were arms around her, pulling her up, propping her against an additional pillow he snatched from the cabinet. And then he was, actually, holding her.

She swallowed and relaxed, just minutely, against his flannel-clad shoulder.

"You do know you smell like the school" she whispered, more of a loose remark than a real question.

"Hank actually came to me and demanded I hand over every piece of clothing I have" he explained lightly. "He said I can dress however I want in my free time, but at the school I'm supposed to at least not look like a victim of some unfortunate industrial accident. So he took away all of my clothes and confined them to the laundry room and sent my suits to be cleaned. He had to find me replacements from the vast stores of the Xavier mansion, including, well. This."

They sat like that for a few more heartbeats.

"I also borrowed Charles' cologne" he admitted finally. "Run out of mine and didn't have time to restock."

"Ah" she gave a tiny snort. "What else?"

"Well, I do live in that huge, wooden mansion my best friend keeps calling 'home', and I think all the clothes there smell of floor wax anyway, and my coat hangs in that big cedar-lined wardrobe in the cloak room..."

She nodded slowly.

"Erik, I…" she sighed. "I really want to get out of here. Please, make sure Hank has all the help he needs. He will try to do it all himself, and then he'll fall on his face… I need to be healthy enough to go back. I can't keep you here, you are needed at school. _I_ am needed at school. But if I just leave now, or even in a week, like they say, I'll still be useless if we don't work out how to fix me. I don't know what is wrong with me, and I'm scared. Erik, I'm scared."

She couldn't raise her head, because looking him in the eyes after that confession would have been too much. She had just openly admitted _weakness_ to a man that had once tried to strangle her with her own dogtags. Even worse, she was sitting on her hospital bed, being held - very gingerly - by said man, her cheek touching the soft flannel of his shirt, his hand cradling her head - and she took comfort from that. His slow breathing and his steady heartbeat were actually quite calming.

Working on figuring out her own emotions would be probably the thing to do over the next few days.

* * *

"Alex and Jean are baking cheesecake."

"What?" she tried to look at him, but he held her just a tiny bit tighter and she relaxed again. He turned his face partially into her hair and she could feel his breath on the skin of her neck.

"Alex and Jean are baking cheesecake, for Scott, because by all accounts it is Scott's - and Alex's - favourite cake, and Scott hadn't had a chance to eat any since before the orphanage. Scott and Ororo are clearing the schoolgrounds, because they were being annoying and Charles decided they need to spend their detention in some useful manner. Raven is officially recovered, as of today morning. She can't change, but at least she doesn't switch between forms every five minutes and she can walk by herself, not tripping over her own feet. Kurt is fine, just trailing Raven like a puppy ever since she accidentally spilt the beans about being his mother."

"WHAT?"

"Shh. Yes. Our dear little Raven apparently had a secret and it is called Kurt. Now, where was I?"

"Sharing random gossip from the school…"

"Yes. Because you need to know that they are fine. Mostly, of course, Banshee still wears a cast, because he had been an idiot and overused his broken arm just after the first cast was taken off. Um. Ororo still sometimes protests against shoes, but Jean is introducing her to the wonderful world of high heels and she seems hooked. Scott and Alex have this weird thing going when they don't communicate beside calling each other 'dork', 'cretin', 'goody two shoes' and 'idiot' and then suddenly they go play soccer or take apart a broken car engine and start talking normally. I think they need the school consuelor to resolve this, because Charles is useless with these two."

She inhaled sharply.

"Charles is a mess" he whispered, a bit hoarsely, after a pause. "Charles is a bloody mess and he needs you. Jean and him are helping each other with their telepathy - that girl is actually scaring me sometimes, you know? But he's been working on Raven for the last five weeks, almost non-stop - just switching with Jean, so he's so worn out he falls asleep over supper. The younger kids are mostly fine, as they weren't using their powers during the attack, so the worst thing they have to survive now is general moodiness of everyone. Also, Hank is now a regular at the gym. He says that as the Beast he may be ripped, but he wants to actually exercise, so he takes his shots, switches to his old scrawny self and lifts. He said he needs to be able to use his muscles without having to, I quote, 'call the blue one for backup'."

She managed a soft giggle.

"Thank you" she whispered. "It helps. A bit."

"No problem."

She sighed deeply, inhaling the school scent he carried on himself. It did seem to be having a calming effect, as her heart slowed down and she could think more and more clearly.

"Erik, could you give them all a message from me?"

He straightened up and leaned a bit away, looking at her.

"Sure. Whatever you need."

"Well. Tell the children to play nice and that if the reading assignments are not done before I get back, there will be Consequences. And tell the boys to play nice, or I'll have a Talk with them. And…" she closed her eyes. "And give a message to Charles, too. If you don't mind."

"Not at all."

* * *

He had to admit later that she caught him by surprise. Because here they were, sitting on her hospital bed, her in her godawful pastel pink nightdress and plaited hair and him in his borrowed flannel shirt and suddenly there were her lips pressed to his.

Moira. Kissing him.

And somehow, some way, it didn't seem all that wrong or weird or complicated.

So instead of letting her go the second she started to pull away, he moved one hand to the nape of her neck, slightly adjusting the angle, and deepened the kiss.

She gasped and they separated slightly, just minutely, to let themselves breathe.

"Ach" he could only think of a single syllable comment. "Are you sure?"

"Well" she sighed. "Almost."

"And you want me to give this message to Charles?"

"Verbatim. Time, place, audience - up to you. But I want you to be quite literal."

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"If you wish. I will. I'll be back tomorrow morning, love."

"I'll be here."

* * *

"Well" nurse Harrison's eyes were twinkling as she brought a tray with tea not five minutes after Erik left. "That was.. Something else."

Moira blushed and looked down at her hands.

"I hope we didn't break any hospital rules…"

"Darling, he would have to have his way with you on the corridor in front of the paediatric ward before someone deemed it inappropriate for this hospital. Also, with a husband that hot, I'm surprised you managed to hold off this long."

"I was too sick to think about it" Moira sank to her pillows slowly. "I always had a tube, or a mask, or something else on my face. And then I was mostly coughing, or in pain, or…"

"Well, if you say so" the woman went around the room, drawing the curtains open. "But, well. I suppose. With what happened, he might have been a little... " she coughed. "Well. Not that into it."

Moira felt heat rising in her face.

"I suppose that… that may be true."

_I wonder what Charles will_ _… Oh my God._

She went completely still.

"Moira? Moira, something wrong?"

"No" she relaxed and fell even deeper into her pillow. "No, nothing wrong."

_Or, at least, nothing that I can stop now. God, MacTaggert, what did you start? Are you crazy?_

Actually, now that she thought about it, she might be.


	29. Charles, Gobsmacked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, the whole story is written. It may undergo some tweaks and corrections, but "Living in Daylight" is finished.  
> I must warn you that the whole thing took a slightly unexpected turn one day and - as my characters apparently know better what they want - I couldn't change it, even if I wanted. And I didn't, because they just fit this way.  
> So, a warning now - if 'complicated' relationships aren't your thing and, for some reason, you find polyamory not appropriate, you should stop reading now. Here there be dragons.  
> I updated the tags accordingly.

Everyone was more or less busy. Even Raven, despite being stuck in bed for most of the day, managed to get the kids running the perimeter of the mansion, just by barking at them and promising dire retribution should they slack off.

Jean and Ororo were doing precision practice, with Ororo mainly being imprecise and Jean mainly catching the debris.

Kurt was sparring. Even worse, he was sparring with Logan, of all people. Logan, who apparently had followed the kids all the way from Stryker's holding facility just because Jean helped him with his memory. Charles shuddered, trying not to imagine what his sister would do if she found out who her son considered a good sparring partner.

_Her son._

That thought hurt like a knife to his gut.

He should be glad - having a nephew was definitely not what he was angry about. Kurt was such a sweet kid, so broken by the way he grew up, so adoring of Raven, it was almost too much sugar in one cute blue-skinned package.

Even looking at Kurt hurt.

Even thinking of Kurt made him yearn for something appropriately fiery to pour down his throat. Something that would burn away the pain, the rage and the loneliness.

* * *

" _She is sick, Charles. I know you want her to be back here, but it is too risky. Every time they find something new going wrong. At least she's awake now."_

" _That doesn't help me much" he grumbled. "I can't make a proper connection without touch now, and Hank had banned me from Cerebro."_

" _He doesn't want you to fry your brain."_

_He really needed a drink. Or two._

" _Hank doesn't understand" he finally whispered, covering his face. "Nobody understands. I can't explain it to anyone."_

_Erik_ _'s sudden silence scared him. A lot._

" _You are an idiot, you know it?" Erik sighed finally and stood up. "Why do you think I'm even taking part that whole charade?"_

_Charles looked up at Erik_ _'s tired, pain-lined face._

" _Because you know very well what it feels like" he answered quietly, closing his eyes with sudden realisation. "I'm so sorry, my friend. I'm so very sorry. I'd have spared you…"_

" _Charles. I_ _ **volunteered**_ _. Also, you were so out of it, you had nothing to say. You were busy bleeding out of your ears and trying to save Raven. I couldn_ _'t do anything for your sister, but I could help your wife. Thank goodness Hank had time to produce a set of fake papers and got them to us when she was in that first surgery. We would have attracted even more unwanted attention without them. Also, I know how to deal with doctors and nurses. They were expecting a properly grieving man and they got one. Who else would you have asked? Alex? Sean? They are all too young and they definitely see Moira as their senior. One of them could have played her brother, maybe. If he dared. You or me, Charles. We were the only possible picks. And you were out of the question."_

" _Hank…"_

" _Hank still has problems expressing himself in normal social situations, despite all the work you do with him. And, when stressed, turns blue. Also, I may be deluding myself, but I think I make a more probable life partner for Moira than he does."_

_Charles swallowed his next words, but they leaked through his lousy shielding anyway._

" _No, and I didn't mean 'than you'. And stop wallowing in self-pity, you idiot. She's alive and quite well. Considering."_

_Charles watched his friend, who actually fidgeted._

" _Considering what?" he asked finally._

" _Considering they weren't expecting her to wake up at all" Erik said, teeth clenched. "They expected her to stay in the coma and then, just, someday, slip away. The other option they gave me was reduced brain function. The fact that she's fully conscious, probably only missing a few hours of memories and still as infuriatingly_ _ **Moira**_ _as she ever was... You should be happy."_

_"She just woke up three days ago" he pointed out. "We don't really know what she actually remembers."_

_"We don't know in detail, but she's lucid, she's speaking - not a lot, because they had to intubate her and she's still hoarse, but it's getting better, she recognised me and she recognises the kids' names. I didn't ask for details, because I can't be sure they don't have microphones in the rooms, but as far as I can see, she might have lost the time just before the attack. Once she's back at the school, you and Jean can work with her to get the specifics."_

* * *

Almost three weeks later and Moira was still at the hospital, despite daily assurances that "only a few days more". He was getting restless and working on Raven didn't give him enough output for his energy anymore. Raven even suggested that Jean may be the better choice for her right now, considering Charles' weak shielding and the way his worries leaked through when he was working with her.

That didn't leave him with much to do, except for the paperwork. He had to find some way to quiet the worry inside. Exercising his telepathy to cover the whole school seemed like the best bet - at least that way he'd gain better knowledge of all the children and their wellbeing.

He wasn't counting on learning that much about his students' love lives, however. It seemed most of the teenagers had a rather healthy approach to, well. Everything. He wondered briefly if the night when Sean suggested they should have kept the windows closed was the only one when someone wandered into the kitchen after bedtime.

* * *

Charles slowly moved the refurbished wheelchair around the TV room. He knew the lessons would be done soon and most of the adolescents would be here, competing for the remote and trying to convince each other of the virtues of their favourite shows.

He actually liked that time. Most grownups avoided the TV room like plague until the kids settled down, but he appreciated the fact that here, in this place, in the home he made for them, they could be as unrestrained as any kid outside these walls.

In a distance, a door slammed and suddenly there were voices everywhere, of each possible age and gender, asking for Moira.

_'Erik?'_

_'Where are you?'_

_'In the TV room... if this whole school following you?'_

_'Charles...'_

That was funny. Erik could actually _growl_ over the mind-link. And yes, as far he could sense, it was at least _half_ of the school, mostly the kids who had reduced lessons plan or had been let out slightly earlier.

"Is it Erik?" Raven leaned against the doorframe, securing her jumper with an improvised belt.

"Yes, it is Erik, and you should be resting" he pointed to the sofa. "Now."

She pouted.

"Only if you get off that contraption and sit here, too."

He rolled his eyes and moved the chair closer to the sofa. With Raven's slight help he transferred himself to the softness of the pillows.

"Nice" he managed to say before she moved his chair away. "Raven!"

"Ah-ah" she sing-sang. "Now, when the kids go to beds, we'll sit here and watch old movies. You are my prisoner now!"

"Raven?"

She looked at him, smiling.

"Did you sneak into Alex's room?"

"I might have" she twirled a strand of her hair on a finger.

He leaned back on the sofa and rubbed his face.

_She's SOOO high. And we're sooo screwed._

_'Alex?'_

_'Professor?'_

_'I probably owe you a few bucks. Please move your stash to a safer place at some point today.'_

_'What...?'_

_'Raven. High as a kite.'_

_'Damn.'_

_'Let me know how much she took, I'll see if we can resupply you anytime soon.'_

_'Thanks, Prof. Appreciate it.'_

"You know that you're not supposed to take Alex's pot, right?"

She smiled innocently.

"You know Alex needs it for medical purposes, and he's not just getting high for fun, unlike some people?"

She pouted. Actually pouted.

"Damn."

"You're so sweet when you're all worked up."

_'Erik, where the hell are you, I need help.'_

"I can see that. Come on, Mystique. Get away from your brother, stop bothering him. You can take this chair."

"May I bother you then?"

"Raven, just sit in the damn chair and try not to touch anyone inappropriately."

"You're no fun."

"But I'm also your brother, so you will sit in that chair and behave."

"Mr Lehnsherr?" a girl's head appeared from behind the doorframe. "Will you tell us something about Miss Moira today? Did you see her?"

Erik's face softened.

"I did, Karie. I will tell you everything when we have the whole group here."

_'Alex? Sean? Erik is back from the hospital, so if you want news about Moira...'_

_'Give me just a sec to hide this better...'_

_'I'm in the kitchen, do you need anything?'_

_'No, Sean, thank you. Just get here, or the kids will eat Erik alive.'_

* * *

Kids loved Erik. Anywhere he went, there was always some under-10 trailing him and watching with starry eyes. Fortunately for them, Erik was more than happy to tolerate a bit of hero-worship, despite the varying level of heroism he saw in himself.

This meant that ever since their other beloved teacher managed to get herself admitted to the hospital and Erik was delegated as the one to visit her - not that the small ones were privy to the actual process of how the choice was made - he became the focus of double dose of their attention every time he appeared.

This sometimes worried Charles, as he was afraid that his friend may become overwhelmed, due to the recent grief he had experienced, but somehow, day by day, Erik seemed to, if not brighten up, then at least become slightly calmer. That could, but didn't have to have anything to do with the random thoughts about Peter that Erik sometimes leaked in Charles' presence. Which was a huge improvement over Erik's previous brusque dismissal of their unofficial TA.

* * *

Alex parked himself on a barstool he dragged from the billiard room and Sean simply leaned on the wall next to him. Ororo and Jean sat with Kurt, who in turn placed himself as close to Raven as was physically possible. Peter took his place on the other side of the door from Alex and watched Erik in concentration.

"Now, yes. I was at the hospital today. Moira is getting better, slowly. Unfortunately, due to that asthma attack she had recently, she's still under observation, which means they want to keep her in for another three days or so."

"What?!" Alex almost dropped his soda can. "Why?"

"They have to adjust her meds and check what brought on the asthma. She actually couldn't breathe for few seconds, so they had to put her in an oxygen mask for some time."

"When will she be home?" Karie asked anxiously.

"No sooner than Thursday. But!" Erik raised a finger. "I have a message for you all! From Moira!"

"Tell us!" one of the boys shouted from the back of the group.

"Now, I am supposed to give it exactly as I received it, from her own lips. What was it... Ah! The message has three parts. I am supposed to tell the children to play nice and that if the reading assignments are not done before she gets back, there will be Consequences" a few giggles welcomed that part. "And also, to tell the boys to play nice, or she will have a Talk with you" he nodded towards Alex and Sean, who looked at each other suspiciously, and then turned towards Scott, who had just joined them by the door.

"What?"

"Come on, little brother, we have to _talk..._ "

" _Younger_ brother!" Scott managed to protest before Alex caught him in a vice-like grip and held him under his arm. "Argh...!"

"Come on, Erik, what is the third part?"

"Ah. Well. The third part is for Charles."

Sean coughed.

"Maybe we should get the kids..."

"I don't think it's necessary" Charles said with a smile, sitting up, expectantly. "So, what did our dearest Moira send for me?"

Erik smirked.

_He was sooo asking for it..._

Some people say you can't surprise a telepath.

Well, if that telepath is really distracted and really tired, then you can.

Charles was surprised.

Also, he was slightly dazed.

Erik was, actually and most certainly, kissing him.

He heard Raven's enthusiastic "woo-hoo!" somewhere in the background.

The way Erik held him, for just a moment, seemed eerily familiar.

And then the kiss deepened and all he could think of was tea, strawberries and honey.

"Why is Herr Lehnsherr kissing the Professor?"

"'cause Miss Moira told him so."

"Why does he do what Miss Moira told him to do?"

"Everyone does what Miss Moira tells them, stupid."

"I don't."

"Because you're stupid, stupid."

"Yuck."

"Grownups are weird."

"They look nice..."

"Duuude..."

"Wow."

"Argh?"

"Ah..." Charles caught his breath a bit shakenly. "So, you... Moira told you to..."

Erik smirked, letting the younger man lean on the back of the sofa.

"No. This is her message. Word for word, or, well. However you want to call it."

Charles' eyes widened.

"She... you..."

Erik shrugged.

"She probably wanted to make sure I'd remember what I'm supposed to share with you all. Now, I'd like to murder a sandwich or two, if there's anything left from the dinner. Hospital food is awful, and I should go there, again, today. Just to make sure she doesn't develop something more complicated than asthma."

The kids run out, shouting with glee. Erik finally stood up, leaving Charles still sprawled on the settee, looking very, very dishevelled.

"I think she'd appreciate this look" Erik remarked. "It's a pity I can't make a photo and bring her a copy. She could keep it on her night table and tell the nurses you're her secret sweetheart that she hides from her terrible German husband."

Raven burst into giggles.

"You kissed Charles" she chortled. "Oh, my. That was _so hot_. And of course he is my brother, so I shouldn't say stuff like this, but _that was hoooot_."

Charles hid his face in his hands, a hot flush rising to his ears.

"Erik..."

"I'll take her to her room" Hank intervened. "She should sleep it off."

"I don' wanna sleep!" Raven protested, still giggling. "I wanna dance and I wanna see my brother and Erik snooogggingg..."

"Come on, Raven" Hank picked her up easily. "I'll sit with you."

"Only sit...?"

Charles moaned.

_'You've created a monster, Erik'_

He threw his forearm over his eyes.

_'Not me'_

_'Come on. Moira didn't...'_

Erik rolled his eyes.

_'Read my bloody mind, you ninny. Or hers.'_

_'You know very well I can't reach any further than the front door.'_

_'So mine. I'm here.'_

Charles cracked an eye open and looked up at Erik.

"She actually..."

"Very specifically."

* * *

Alex loosened his hold on Scott and the younger boy jumped to a safe distance.

"Idiot" he remarked calmly, massaging his throat. "What happened? My bike got tangled in some damn wire and I think I missed something."

"Nah" Sean smacked him on the shoulder. "Not a thing. You saw the very best part."

"Seriously" Alex punched Sean. "What do you think this means?"

Sean shrugged and punched Scott.

"No idea. But I'm investing in some earplugs when she's back from the hospital, because I really, _really_ don't want to know."

Scott punched Sean.

"I'll need a few, too. My room is next to Alex's."

Alex smacked Scott's ribs.

"Yeah, now we know living here will prepare us for real world - you get to learn what kids with parents live through when they hear their folks in the bedroom."

"I _can hear you_!" Charles remarked weakly from the sofa.

"Did you hear anything, Scott?"

"Not a thing. Sean? You heard something?"

"Not a thing. Havoc?"

"Nope."

"I hate you all!"

The three walked away quickly, muffling their laughter.

Of course, he could _hear_ them, including the surface thoughts. His shields were still leaky and the lingering effect of being very deeply and aggressively snogged by Erik made him slightly wobbly, both in mind and in body. The positive part was... they were actually quite indifferent to what they saw just minutes before. The negative was - they left him alone.

_Crap._

He was stuck on the bloody sofa, his chair half a room from him.

Also, he had absolutely no idea what was going through Moira's mind, and he was actually a bit scared to find out.


	30. Alex, Indulging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering the holiday season, I'll try posting the rest every half day (rereading each before posting, just in case some gigantic plothole managed to sneak by me when I was in the 'creative' mode).  
> Let me know how you feel about the direction this is taking.

He really hoped Charles would get him resupplied, because Raven had made a rather big dent in his reserve. It wasn't that he _had_ to have a joint immediately. He was good. He wouldn't be happy with any kind of physical addiction, so he kept his usage of pot limited strictly to days when the energy collection passed certain margin he couldn't really manage without help. He just liked to keep a small buffer, a surplus, stored in case the world didn't work out correctly for all of them again. Things tended to fail in various spectacular ways around them, after all. He knew it well, being one of the prime examples.

He was scared of sun now, which was new. All bigger fires, including the bonfire kids had set up in the garden, made him queasy. He had to physically stop himself from catching Scott's collar and dragging him away from that friggin bonfire.  
He had managed to make a bit of homemade self-analysis and had identified what he had as PTSD. Which would have been very nice had he had a therapist to share the news with and discuss why for weeks he kept taking cold showers, dressed only in long sleeves and even slept in sweats that covered him as much as possible.  
He didn't become suddenly shy of his body. He had nothing to complain about in _that_ area.  
What he knew very well now was that his - and Scott's - powers were resupplied by the sun. And he wanted as little contact with the sun as possible. Even with Jean's help with draining the excess, there was always a risk of one of them getting stuck outside and overexposed. He just didn't know how to force himself to _loosen up_ , even in a completely darkened room.

He dreamt of fire. Fire that got much too close to him. Fire fed by his own powers, but independent from them, thus making it a danger, both to him and to Scott. Of course, for the others too, but Scott and he had been found to be proof against each other's powers. Still, the inferno he called into life could consume even the both of them. And he woke up, drenched in cold sweat, his skin tingling with internal fire he kept under shaky control.

He tried to live a reasonably normal life - he even managed to leave the house now and then, if he first let go in the basement bunker and depleted himself to near-zero levels or caught Jean when she, in turn, needed to refill her reserves. Sometimes he even managed to kick the ball around with Scott or go running with Hank before he felt the tingle under his fingers, alerting him to the fact that his internal battery was close to recharged.

He became fidgety around the girls. As if it wasn't the last thing he needed, he had now problems keeping up with the conversation, especially in case of older ones. The kids didn't scare him all that much, but when talking to the teenagers, like Jean or Ororo, all he could think was how much blood such a tiny woman can contain - and lose. It wasn't exactly a good conversation starter and he'd be damned before he told them that he was worried about them. Considering Jean was probably more powerful than he and Scott combined and _she_ was the one who helped _them_ both from time to time with depleting the energy storage. Yet, he still couldn't shake that weird overprotective feeling.  
None of them were probably pregnant, even despite all the disappearing acts that Jean and Peter pulled together. Still, it didn't make it easier to just talk about everyday stuff and to not try to make them sit quietly in a safe corner just because his hands shook like crazy when he saw any of them outside.

He sat by the radiator, trying to balance the internal heat and the cold of recent shower and to get himself to that perfect point between shaking and sleepy that allowed him to interact socially, especially with his brother.

Then the Professor informed him that their favourite shapeshifter got into his room somehow.  
Well. Maybe he could ask for some of the stronger stuff, the kind that veterans fondly described during the few group therapy sessions he managed to attend under the guise of late-onset PTSD from the war.

It wasn't that he _had_ to have a smoke right now. But until Moira was back and they could assure him that her bleeding out right there, on the stairs, when he was holding her, hadn't been permanent, he wanted to keep his options open.


	31. Raven, not as high as they think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one, and then back to Moira.  
> I wrote it after watching the deleted scene with Raven and Hank from DOFP (search YT for "Mystique & Beast Kissing Scene", but be prepared for a bit more than just kissing)

She knew she should feel guilty about stealing Alex's pot, but she really didn't. The guilt would come later, in the hours after her small high would go down. After the ludicrous sensation of being lifted up by a huge blue cloud would dissipate.

Now she could only revel quietly in the cute way Hank was looking down at her and holding her.

She knew that would end soon enough because her room was still in the same place - close to the stairs - and she wanted to soak in Hank's warmth for a few more minutes. So, once he had deposited her on her bed and moved to pull a blanket over her, she seized his hand and pulled him down to sit next to her.

"I don't want to sleep" she explained querulously. "And I really need to be around someone who isn't actively trying to heal me. I've spent last five weeks being treated by Charles and Jean and I kind of need some other company."

Hank pushed the glasses up his nose uncomfortably but settled down in a few breaths. She curled slightly behind his back, pulling a pillow along to finally rest just next to his thigh.

"Tell me something" she asked quietly. "Anything. What are you working on? What is happening in the school? Are there any new students coming?"

He sighed deeply.

"There will be a few new kids, but they are a bit too young for your classes yet" he smiled down at her. "Nothing much is happening here, except of course when Erik is back from the hospital - and then he usually falls flat on his face the moment he manages to eat something. Everyone tries to keep the kids busy. Even Peter and Sean are helping, even though they are not _actual_ teachers, but at least they assist in the classes and try to organise as much of the kids' time as possible. Unless, of course, Peter is out, taking Jean for one of their quick trips all around the country."

Raven blinked.

"Saint Jean is skipping outside school with _Peter_? How is it even… How do you know?"

Hank shrugged, leaning back against her.

"They smell different. I can smell exhaust, strange people and fastfood on them."

She twisted to the side slightly, allowing her to look at him better.

"You can _smell_ this kind of stuff?"

"Sure. I may not look like the blue guy, most of the time, but I still have most of his senses. Excluding hearing, at least partially. This requires better earlobe control."

"Why…" she started and chewed on it for a moment. "Why are you still taking the shots? You know you're safe here, and you _are_ recognisable as 'the one who tried to stop Magneto', so mostly you wouldn't be bothered outside."

He snorted.

"Because claws are really crap when dealing with glass probes and taking samples. I use the serum for everyday work, because otherwise our bill for lab equipment would be twice of what it is and I'd never get anything done anyway. And it's not like I suppress it all the time. One early morning shot is enough for a normal day. By the evening I'm usually pretty _itchy_ , so I go to my room, take a shower - and I learned the hard way how much shampoo it takes to wash the fur - and just lie down, waiting for the hair to come. If anything happens during the day, the change comes quicker, unless I take a second dose."

"So the day of the attack…" she traced her finger along the side seam of his jeans.

"Yeah" he sighed. "I went blue in next to no time. Whole bottle of shampoo that evening, just to scrub off the blood, the sweat and all the dirt. At least the serum saved me from whatever the attack would have done to me directly. On the other hand, my furry version is rather stable, so I'm not sure there would have been any interesting effects" he shrugged. "Might have messed with my brain chemistry though, or with hormones. That could have been ugly. As it was, I could help the kids who got hit and start working on possible cures the moment my headache was gone."

She sighed, rubbing her cheek on the silky pillowcase.

"I have to admit, knowing that you were in control _was_ nice" she said softly. "Charles was in pieces, I could barely think, Alex was in shock, Sean was breaking everything he faced…"

"Jean kept her cool" Hank pointed out. "That is the only reason you and Charles didn't go crazy in the first half hour. She can split her attention and so she managed to get him under control of himself - and off the more suicidal path of trying to go to the hospital - and was monitoring you to make sure your metabolism was not going to eat your own muscles."

She shuddered at the visualisation.

"And now" he said suddenly and paused. "Now I'm waiting for the last batch of tests. Because whatever the hell is wrong with Moira, these people at the hospital won't find it. I think…" he made an uncertain gesture. "I'm afraid it may have been her pregnancy. I'm now thinking how to break the news to Charles."

Raven sniffed. She never understood Charles' fascination with Moira and, although happy to have another woman in the school, to stave off the general wave of testosterone, she found it tough to warm up to Moira as a specific person. She still blamed her for Charles' disability, so despite the fact that her brother seemed rather intent on keeping Moira, she just… didn't get all that excited about it all.

"Charles will be OK" she said finally. "He's always OK."

He started laughing softly and despite slight fogginess left by the pot, she heard the brittle, sad edge of he sound.

"OK" he choked. "Oh my God, Raven, you just _don_ _'t know anything about him_ , do you? You've lived with him for what, ten years? And you still have no idea what can or cannot break him" he stood up, straightening. "Because, really. The last time he lost her - and you, and Erik - he went down."

She sat up, looking at him angrily.

"Oh, because you know sooo much!"

"Yes. Because _I_ stayed. I kept him alive. I kept him healthy. I bloody kept him _eating_ , when the only thing he was willing to accept was moonshine and cheap beer. So yes, I know so much. I know what keeps him thinking, I know what keeps him working, I even know how to make him walk. You, his sister, you _think_ you know."

Raven couldn't stand his gaze and finally had to look away.

"Walk?" she asked weakly.

"Walk. Not that he did much of said walking, but at least he could, if he wanted, go and take a shower by himself. Or, whatever. Make himself a coffee."

She rubbed her face with both hands.

"And…?"

"And Wolverine happened. And Paris. You were there, after all. This gave him the impulse to work on the school, so we finally restarted the whole idea, we invited the kids in. But he had to give up the spine treatment, in order to regain control of his telepathy, so back to the wheelchair... We started setting up a programme, some semblance of school year. And all that time he was getting these terrifying migraines, but I thought it was just due to strain of too many children around him."

He still didn't turn away from the door, and she really wanted to see his face.

"And you know what? She came. She came, just like that, by herself. At the point when all the painkillers I knew couldn't even make a dent in the headaches he was having. He had a seizure and I kept him sedated the best I could. I reorganised the school to keep him isolated in one of the wings. And she just… waltzed in one day and suddenly, miraculously, he was fine. Well, not at once. But every hour that he spent in her presence was like a magical cure-all. Can you imagine it? I was very, very much put out. After all, I had tried all my finest medical methods, all the experimental pharmaceuticals I could get my hands on, even some very illegal drugs. And she comes and, voila, all is sunshine and roses. So, Raven, no. He will not be OK. And because his brain is now much, much stronger than it used to be, I'd rather not be in the same state as him if she dies."

She pushed herself back to the wall and leaned back on it.

"I had no idea" she finally answered, tasting the bitterness of these words. "I… I never understood why he needs her. She seemed like nothing in particular. Just one of the girls he used to pick up in bars, using the same _lamest_ pickup line ever. I could recite it in my sleep at some point. And then I thought she was one that was stupid enough to actually _fall_ for it, and, well, I couldn't value her judgement very highly after that."

Hank finally looked back at her, which was an improvement. Not that his back was all that bad…

"You really thought she fell for that idiotic thing about mutation?" he asked with amusement. "That's why you…"

She shrugged.

"Nobody can be very bright if they fall in love with _Charles_ " she stressed. "The pickup line is all him."

He snorted and sat on the floor, leaning on the door.

"Moira is incredibly competent, scarily organised, very dedicated and may be, in some specific areas and directions, smarter than any of us. Also, she's socialised, well-adapting to her surroundings, had graduated with two majors - I checked it, she never told anyone - and had never failed at her job until she met Charles. Or, in general, all of us. And we pulled her down, we damaged her professional standing - you remember that party at the compound? She had to pay for the damages. Because she was the one who brought us in. Even after the compound was damaged by Shaw, CIA docked part of her salary. For our stupid hijinks. And no, she didn't tell me, I snooped in her documents when she went to the hospital - I was looking for some family history or medical documentation."

Raven felt herself grow lightheaded.

"And then Charles erased her memory" Hank continued mercilessly.

"He did _what_?!"

She sat straight up again, trying to blink away the slight fog from her receding high.

"He erased her memory of everything that happened in Cuba, back to where she met him in that bar. She was damaged in the eyes of CIA, having let herself be used by 'parties unknown'. They put her back in the typing pool and had her retype reports. Moira MacTaggert. _Doctor_ Moira MacTaggert. _Agent_ Moira MacTaggert. Retyping reports written by some oafs doing what was supposed to be _her_ job. And all of it because of your brother. Then she developed the most terrible headaches - because they were still linked, you know, so they amplified each other - and after he collapsed, she got a memory cascade that made her black out. Behind the wheel of her car. Good thing she managed to _park_ before it happened. Funny thing, she parked just down the lane from the mansion, so when she came to, she just walked up the lawn and here she is."

"Oh, God" she whispered finally. "It's no wonder… I mean, I'm kind of surprised _she_ wanted _him_ back. After all that shit he pulled."

Hank chuckled.

"I have no idea why, but I'm not going to complain. At this point, it is important that she does, and that's the basic reason why we need her to survive that, whatever it is. I'll have to check on the results in an hour or so, so I need to try and catch a nap now."

She fidgeted and played with the blanket as he rose slowly.

"Would you…" she managed to say before her mouth dried out. She licked her lips nervously. "I mean, I get it that I'm not your favourite person right now. I've been an idiot. But… could you maybe consider taking that nap here? I think I need someone to hold me for a moment."

She pulled the blanket away and smiled crookedly.

He hesitated for a moment, toying with his glasses.

"Please, Hank" she sighed. "I need to… I need _you_ to just hold me."

He shook his head and sighed, then sat down to take off his oversized house shoes and carefully placed the glasses on her nightstand.

"Only because you're so bloody high" he grumbled. "And you just shouldn't be left without supervision."

He rolled her in a blanket - she felt like a little blue tortilla wrap - stretched himself on her bed and pulled her in, her cheek coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Sleep it off, Raven" he said softly. "And if you want to talk about your brother, come to the lab tomorrow. I'll be trying to save his wife's life all day."

She sneaked one hand out of her cocoon and placed it over his heart, allowing herself to relax to the steady beat.

"You know, Hank" she said in a slightly dreamy voice - she felt herself floating away just a bit, but had the strongest feeling she just had to say it. "I actually rather like doctor McCoy, if I have to be honest. It's just that Beast seems… closer to me."

His chuckle rumbled - by hearing it with her ear to his chest she got a much deeper sound, much more like _Beast_.

"Just - be good, Raven" he said. "Sleep. And you know where to find me tomorrow - whichever one it is that you'll be looking for."

She felt a small flush coming up her cheeks at the idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit I don't remember if Raven saw Charles walking in DOFP, but I can't watch it right now - my laptop is on a strike :/


	32. Moira, Annoyed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the events will, maybe, speed up a bit. Also, a lot will be explained and finally aligned. Let me know what you think :)
> 
> (7 more chapters to go, so I will post 3 per day, to end the posting exactly a month after I started writing this part)

The physical therapy was definitely not done yet, but she wasn't getting completely wiped out every time they made her stand up and walk a few steps with support. The healing cuts pulled slightly with each movement, but nothing _hurt_ in a specific way. It was still more of a general ache in her whole body, but that was what the last IV with a painkiller was for. Even the asthma was under control now - the carefully calibrated meds were already on her shelf and a prescription for more in her bag.

The hospital was getting on her nerves. Mostly, it was her herself who was getting on her own nerves, but she vastly preferred to blame it on something else. The hospital it was then. She couldn't in all fairness blame the staff - the doctors seemed competent - in the limitations of their profession, of course. She honestly believed they were trying to help her, despite everything working against them. The nurses were actually rather nice and attentive (Erik had apparently greased various cogs and got her semi-continuous company from at least one nurse in every shift) and she couldn't say a bad word about any of them - except for the few that seemed to salivate over Erik every time he showed and to annoyingly try to share with her their appreciation of her 'husband's' form. One of the kinder ones was just now putting the room to order, removing invisible dust and opening the curtains.

"I think you can come in, sir. You have a guest, Mrs Stein."

She covered her head with a pillow. She didn't want to take her annoyance out on Erik, so she decided to take a few heartbeats to compose herself.

"It's not like I can't see you, just because you can't see me, Moira."

She tensed.

The right voice. All the right sounds, and that slight, tiny undertone of his Scottish burr hidden under the thick veneer of a British upbringing.

"Now, love, do you think you could sit up and talk?"

She pulled the pillow off her head and looked at the door.

Getting his midsection instead of his face.

Charles was _standing_ , leaning on the doorframe, an insolent smirk on his lips, hair brushed loose around his face, eyes shining.

He straightened and sauntered slowly towards her bed, still smiling in that way that made her hand twitch with the need to slap him silly or to pull him closer by his tie and kiss it off his lips. His eyes never left her face as he lowered himself into a high-backed chair.

"How..." she couldn't even formulate a proper question.

"Achievements of modern technology" he answered airily and then added in much lower voice. "That, and a friend who controls metal. You can let go now, Erik, I'm sitting down."

"Erik?"

"He's outside, checking you out of the hospital. We have a few minutes and then we'll have to move. Jean is downstairs, destroying the evidence of your ever having been here."

He reached for her hands, but she pulled away.

"How can I be sure it's not just a hallucination due to one of these?" she shrugged in the general direction of the drugs waiting on the shelf.

"What would a hallucination say?"

"That he's real" she mumbled.

"Well, I _am_ " he smiled in that infuriating way that made her blood pressure spike just a bit.

He looked tired. And worried.

She finally reached out to him.

_'Hello, love'_

_'Charles... I...'_

_'I know. It will be... No, I can't lie. It will not get better. But we will survive. And I won't let anyone take you away from me.'_

_'I missed you...!'_

_There was a ghostly feeling of slight pressure on her lips._

_'Now. Can you please tell me what this whole thing with Erik was about?'_

She opened her eyes, looking straight at him - and then at Erik, standing by the nurses' station.

_'I felt he/we/you needed it'_

_'Ah. The funny side of telepathical grammar. Which one would that be then? Maybe just you, hmmm?'_

She felt herself grow warmer under his intense gaze and searched desperately for a new topic.

 _'What do they all see?'_ she pointed to the corridor with a nod.

He smiled, kindly indulging her need to avoid explaining what she herself found hard to verbalise to herself.

_'I'm not yet up to keeping the whole corridor ignorant of us, so they just see two old friends chatting quietly behind the husband's back. But he brought me here, so they think I'm probably gay and so can be allowed near pretty, scantily-clad wives of my friends.'_

She gasped.

_'They don't!'_

_'They so do. The one that is talking to Erik actually just considered an attempt at converting me back to The Way The Nature Wanted Me To Be.'_

"Charles?" Erik's gravelly voice broke their concentration. "I've got all documents, including the treatment. Could you take them to the car and send Jean up here, to collect Moira's things?"

"Not a problem, my friend. I will need just a tiny bit of your assistance here" he smiled tightly as Erik seemed to he frozen in thought, looking at the two of them. "Erik?"

His friend finally snapped back to reality.

"Sure. Just remember, small steps, no running."

"Will do" Charles saluted him happily and slowly walked out the doors. The nurses gazed after him for a moment longer.

"Now, love" Erik spoke with much more force than ever before, making a rather obvious show of a very business-like, very important husband talking to his maybe confused wife. "I'm going to the financial director to sign off a few bills and to discuss any other costs the hospital may ask us to cover. Jean will come here in a moment and help you pack and make sure everything is taken care of."

_Translation: Jean will help you pack and also try to make everyone remember you as a different person._

"The car is waiting downstairs, so get Jean to wheel you down there and I'll help you in. I'll take care of _everything_. Don't worry."

He pressed a small kiss to her forehead and left. One or two nurses fanned themselves with printouts they were holding.

She sat up, slowly, trying to listen to any signal her body would be sending.

The PT nurse, Anne, bustled in, eyes sparkling with excitement.

"So, you're going home, Moira" she gushed. "I've heard your husband had hired someone to continue the physiotherapy with you, that is fantastic! I think it's better than here at the hospital" she confided. "You will have a dedicated specialist, to get you on your feet in no time."

Moira smiled weakly and nodded.

"Now, I must say, you're popular today" Annie whispered. "Whole hospital is already talking about Mr Stein, but that friend he brought today, that was... Wow."

Moira blushed hotly.

"Yes, he is Erik's... they are like brothers. They work together, at the school."

Annie cocked an eyebrow.

"Brothers, I see. I envy you, working with such nice specimens. I wonder what the girls at your school think."

Moira snorted.

"Half of them are in love with one, and half with the other. Some can't make up their minds."

Annie drew the blinds and closed the door.

"Can you?" she quipped, pulling Moira's bag from the small cabinet. "I probably couldn't. Not without carefully checking the offer."

"I..." Moira spluttered. "No, no. I am, most certainly, sticking to the one I picked."

Annie pulled clothes from the bag.

"You may be" she whispered with a conspirator's smile. "But I'm sure these guys are still very much in the race."

"That may just be their natural, ah, competitiveness" Moira suggested lightly, slowly pulling on a pair of her actual, own, personal panties. Jean's choice obviously - white with a pink bow. Slim pantsuit trousers came next, so she could finally hitch the terrible cotton nightdress up and try to put on a bra. "They are always trying to best each other, every day."

"Do you need help?" Annie stepped behind her. "I suppose this is one move you shouldn't be trying yet."

"If you could" Moira gasped, the whole exercise of dressing herself a bit too much for her. "I hope the girls packed something that isn't a shirt. Not sure I'll manage all the buttons."

"I think they were perceptive enough" Annie held up a long-sleeved tunic. "But I think a wrap-around would have been better, less need to raise your hands."

They slowly pulled the tunic on Moira, stopping midway as she had to rest before pulling the other sleeve on.

Annie regarded her suspiciously.

"Now that I think about it… Are you sure _you_ want to check out? I know your husband insisted, but... You know, if you don't feel sure you should be going home..."

Moira frowned, trying to understand the meaning of the nurse's sudden suggestion.

"No, I am fine" she said, slowly. "I will rest better at home - and if you say Erik has set up for a specialist to see me..."

Annie nodded slowly and helped her up to the wheelchair.

"I put a business card in your bag" she whispered. "If there is anything... anything wrong at your home, anything that puts you at risk, you can call them and they will help - they help women who can't..." she shrugged. "It's just in case. Keep it hidden from your husband."

Moira turned in the seat and looked at her with wide eyes.

"You think... You think _Erik_ did this to me?" she asked, incredulously. And, actually, quite honestly. She didn't have to pretend in any way. "You were just commenting on how _hot_ he is!"

"I've seen many things" Annie responded, sitting down on the low stool. "There were loving husbands, who brought flowers and gifts and... and then, at home, they beat their wifes half to death. And there were men who thought women kept getting pregnant just to spite them, and so they hurt them. To make their wifes lose the pregnancies. There were men who were angry because their wives _couldn't_ get pregnant, so they hit them and... you know. I'm just saying. If you feel, at any point... Just call them, OK?"

Moira nodded slowly, taking a shaky breath.

"I will be fine" she said softly. "Erik is the last person who would lay a hand on me. And I live in a boarding school, surrounded by people. Nobody had secrets there. The walls are much too thin" she attempted a feeble joke.

Annie patted her hand.

"Still. Keep the card. Or, if needed, you can call this hospital and ask for me. I'll contact whoever is available."

_'Love, is everything fine?'_

She sighed.

_'Yes. Almost. Where is Jean?'_

_'She got stuck at the reception, but she should be coming now.'_

In fact, just a few seconds later, which she spent in slightly uncomfortable silence with Annie, a pair of heels could be heard running down the corridor and someone knocked on the door.

"Miss Moira?"

"Could you open it?" she asked, and Annie rose to unlock the door.

"Just remember what I told you, call these numbers at any time, night or day."

And suddenly Jean was there, all worry and red locks and flashing thoughts.

"Oh, Miss Moira" she gasped, hugging her. "We were so worried! When the Professor said you will be staying here for next week, and then we found out you don't have to, all the kids asked to send you their love. Oh, my. I'm so happy you're coming home!"

_'Professor is a mess and I really need someone for him to fuss over, because I will strangle him if he leaks his grief and worry all over the school again!'_

Moira hugged the girl back.

"Be a dear and take my bag?" she said, nodding towards Annie. "And check the drawers, I think I might have left something there..."

Jean was at the small night table in a flash.

"So you liked the books?" she asked with an innocent smile. "We added them to your things after the Professor had already checked them, so he didn't know what was inside."

Moira chuckled.

"Oh, god. Don't make me laugh. It still hurts sometimes. Don't worry, I won't tell Erik what you made him smuggle."

_'And the Professor?'_

_'Cheeky brat.'_

Annie watched Jean collect the accessories from the shelves somewhat curiously.

"Why do you call Mrs Stein 'Miss Moira'?"

Jean turned to her, her eyes round.

"I..."

"Jean knew me before my marriage. All the children at school call me Miss Moira anyway, even now. It's easier for them. Most female teachers aren't married, so it's more common to call a teacher 'Miss'. I don't want them to get all confused when they start a new school, and then... it just stays like this."

Annie held the overnight bag open to help Jean pack the cosmetics and the books.

"You're lucky your husband allowed you to keep teaching after you married."

Moira and Jean exchanged glances and the teen giggled.

"Miss Moira teaches girls self-defence class" she explained. "She would have kicked Professor's butt if he suggested she should _stop_ teaching."

Annie's eyes widened and she handed the bag to Jean quickly.

"Ah. I see. Sorry for what I said earlier..." she trailed off a bit uncertainly.

Moira smiled and patted her hand.

"You were just worried. I will keep the card, in case someone else needs it. Jean, I think we should go, they will be waiting for us with the car. Are you all right with pushing me there, or should we ask one of the orderlies?"

"It's not my first wheelchair, Miss Moira" Jean handed the bag to her. "Take this and let me do my job. I'll write it off as my P.E. for this week."

"Thank you, Annie" Moira smiled at the nurse. "I... Thank you."

"Not a problem. Hope you get better soon."

* * *

_'What was that thing about that card?'_

_'Poor girl thought I'm a victim of domestic abuse. She slipped me a card to some help line, just in case my totally-hot-but-probably-also-mad German husband decided to beat me into pulp. As if I had any chance of calling for help then.'_

_'Oh, I suppose there are cases when it helps. But why would they think Magneto would be beating you?'_

_'Because Charles couldn't keep himself from being flirty and coming on to me full blast when he was in my room'_ Moira sighed. _'They thought Erik would be jealous. Or something. She also thought he might have been the one to cause the miscarriage.'_

_'WHAT?'_

_'Shh, Jean. Normal brain here, remember. You can shout at Charles.'_

_'Sorry... But why would she think such a terrible...'_

_'Because it happens. And not only in obviously bad families, so no amount of Erik playing a devoted husband made them less suspicious. And then Charles showed up and added himself to the mix, causing the suspicions to boil.'_

Jean snickered.

_'Good thing he did it on the very last day, or I don't know what the nurses would have done with me. They were already in my room all the time, trying to work out how I managed to snag, quote, such a stud like Erik.'_

_'Seriously?'_

_'Ah-ha. Suggesting in the process, at least some of them, that I should probably learn to share, because he is too much of a man just for one woman.'_

Jean's laughter bubbled up.

_'Oh. And now they think you're too much of a woman for just one man?'_

_'The ones that don't think Charles is gay and wish to convert him - he said the head nurse was eyeing him quite eagerly.'_

Jean stopped for a moment and leaned on the handles, laughing silently.

_'Are you sure you should be telling me this stuff?'_

_'I'm so high on morphine I'm excused. Also, I'm afraid you kids aren't really kids anymore, so why not consider it part of your Sex Ed... You anyway know more about how humans are put together than an average college student.'_

_'But THAT...!'_

_'Well. Morphine.'_

* * *

The car was quietly purring just at the end of the ramp, so they made a very quick transfer - Erik securing Moira in the backseat, Jean throwing her bag into the trunk and sending the wheelchair to park itself by the door.

"What's the rush?" Moira asked as Erik started the car as soon as Jean was sitting next to him.

"Let's say that we know what happened" Charles squeezed her hand briefly. "Are we far enough?"

Jean hummed for a moment.

"We should be."

"Finally" he sighed and reached behind his ear to peel off the wig. "God, this is way too warm" he rubbed the top of his head in relief.

"...Charles..." Moira choked. "WHAT THE HELL?"

"Ah" he peeked at her from behind his hand, frozen mid-move. "You were right, Erik, I'm afraid."

"Stop that damned car" she demanded, voice failing. "Erik, _stop that car right now!_ "

"Moira, wait" Charles caught her hand. "Please. We didn't want you to worry, and..."

"Let go of me" she said in a shaken voice. "I'm not sure what is going on here, but I will open that door in five seconds and that car better be stopped by then."

"Erik, pull over" he said calmly.

The car slowed and stopped finally, and she reached for the seatbelt clasp in panic, but Charles had already undone it. She looked at him with fear-widened eyes and stumbled out of the car, stopping three steps from it, by a small tree, holding both of her hands against it, dry-heaving, sobbing and moaning.

"You two stay in the car" she heard Jean say in a new, decisive voice and in a moment she felt the girl's presence by her side. "They are idiots" the redhead said curtly. "They were afraid to check - and to tell you the truth."


	33. Charles and Erik, Awaiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small interlude, just the boys.

The hospital was a sad place to be for a barely-healed telepath, but he managed it - it was the price of their safety. Not to mention the possibility to see Moira and be with her on the ride back.

"I detest this place" Erik said with almost no emotion, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. "I don't want to come here, ever again."

He patted his friend's shoulder.

"Then let's hope the treatment Hank cooked up actually works. She will be able to recuperate at home, and we'll never have to see this place again. We all need rest. She needs rest. _You_ need rest and quiet. I can't even imagine what you had seen in the last few weeks."

Erik shrugged.

"Everything, Charles. _Everything_."

_Alex, stumbling on the stairs, holding up Moira._

_Peter, hovering next to them, undecided._

_Alex, face pale, sleeves bloody, asking something in a confused and desperate voice._

_Moira, lying on the ground, Jean, all taut, over her, energy flowing so thick the air changes colour around them, turning hues he can't even name, in neither language he knows._

_The car, full of kids' shopping that he had just delivered to the mansion, still unpacked._

_Peter, emptying the car at top speed._

_Alex, kneeling on the patch of lawn, looking at the small puddle of blood, shivering._

_Jean, levitating Moira to the backseat, covering her with a blanket._

_Jean's blood-shot eyes and trembling hands._

_"I'll call the ambulance and tell them you're driving towards the St Mary's."_

_"Find some documents for us. Anything that will work for the hospital."_

_His voice, sounding so strange in his ears. The headache, receding slowly._

_Jean's confirmation and quick run up the stairs._

_Alex, looking at them, at the car and back at his bloodied sleeves._

_The drive to the hospital, looking out for the ambulance._

_The drive in the ambulance._

_Begging Moira not to die._

_Holding her hand as she fades in and out of consciousness._

_Her squeezing his hand lightly as she tries to smile behind the oxygen mask._

_The frantic moves of the paramedics who put in the first IV._

_The keening of the ambulance signal._

_The antiseptic smell of the hospital as the door are suddenly thrown open in the ambulance bay._

_The strong hands of an orderly, holding him in place as they wheel Moira away._

_"How far along is she?"_

_The question that doesn't register at first._

_"Sir, how far along is your wife?"_

_His face, screwed up with pain._

_"Six months."_

_The sound of feet, running away, somewhere into the bowels of the building._

_The hours and hours of waiting, when nobody can tell him anything._

_Moira's body, suddenly so small and broken, viewed through the thick glass of the ICU wall._

_The tiny girl he is allowed to hold for a moment, in_ _**their** _ _stead._

_The first day they allow him to sit by Moira's bed, watching the ventilator breathing for her and the myriad of tubes and cables wreathing her body and keeping her in that strange state of just alive but definitely not yet actually_ _**Moira** _ _._

He inhaled, slowly, trying to slow down his heart.

"I've seen everything, Charles" he repeated, his voice shaking. "And I don't want to stay here a second longer than necessary."

The door opened and Jean was there, pushing the wheelchair with all her might, Moira slightly slumped in the seat.

He threw away the cigarette and stood up to open the door and help Moira in, Charles strapping her in the moment she was sitting comfortably. Nodding at his friend - all focused on his wife - he shot one last glance at the hulking block of the building that he had came to detest so in the last weeks. He drove away from the hospital as fast as he could, praying quietly to be allowed to stay away from the damned place from now on.


	34. Jean, Tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if it sounds like Jean - and how you like the direction of the story :)

Jean was fed up with the antics of the so-called grownups. They thought they were sooo much better than the 'kids' - despite the fact that the kids were the ones who saved the day, again and again. And now Moira was in the hospital, and there was something very wrong with her, but nobody asked the _kids_ to help - even though _she_ could probably diagnose Moira much better than the human doctors in the hospital. They didn't even allow them to visit, citing Moira's being in a coma _and_ very ill - and she could have helped with _both_. After all, she was helping Professor with Mystique, and that was much trickier than plain old vanilla human being. And it wasn't like she was as recognisable as Professor or Hank. She could wear some random school uniform and nobody would have even noticed - especially with Erik already having told the staff that Moira was a teacher.

Ororo was worried, of course, but she didn't know Moira as well as Jean did, and she never spent much time with her - after Apocalypse, Moira was too busy helping to reorganise the school and thinking about baby X to bond with the newly-acquired students as much as she had with the older ones.

So Jean was left a bit lonely in her own worry, compounded daily by the grief coming from the Professor, despite all the shielding both of them threw against each other (once he was up to making any shields at all).

Raven was not much help - when she was conscious - as her feelings towards Moira were limited to "she annoys me, but she makes Charles happy, so what can I do" and some very muddled resentment regarding baby X. Which was, probably, linked to Kurt, and Kurt made Professor even more worried, because...

She carefully made the thought line stop from turning back to Moira each time it started again. Running in circles never did her any good.

* * *

What did her good was Scott. She felt _happy_ being able to balance his overflowing energies, and once the mystery of the energy source was resolved, she could easily predict when there would be a need for her attention. She preferred to take care of Scott first - not only because Alex managed his output much better and with less risk of injury to himself, but mostly because Scott was... so sweet. She carefully guarded that thought every time they made the link to carefully get rid of all the stored, painfully pressing golden flood, but that was what she thought every time he sighed with relief as she left him free of that burden. The way his tense face relaxed _thanks to her_ and the lines around his lips softened was the reward she was looking forward to every time.

After a few attempts - with careful use of his new visor, built by Hank for "combat exercises" - they managed to work out what had made him fire up the first time they ever met. She apparently hadn't properly managed the energy she took out of him and - from what Hank could tell them - actually emitted the same type of energy _as the sun_ , causing Scott's eyes to start despite the lack of actual, true sunlight.

She knew now that his eyes were blue-green, with small specks of gold here and there. And she knew how much trust he put in her to never touch the parts of his brain that retained the memories from orphanage. Every time she held his face in her palms she felt slightly tempted, but - asking herself with an internal smirk, what would Moira do? - stepped away from them and did the job he had asked her to do.

A part of her yearned for the closeness with someone so constantly trusting her. Unlike most other students, he was never afraid of her abilities, never fearful of what she could do. He saw only the positive aspects of her mutation and seemed surprised every time she carefully asked for his consent for contact.

Alex found their regular meetings funny for some reason and ribbed Scott mercilessly about the "dates" - which were most certainly _not_ so, as they happened in the most unromantic places, usually in plain view of other students, and sometimes even in front of the school, on the lawn, in the soft light of the garden lamps. She didn't care if people saw them - even more, she wanted to flaunt the one person who trusted her with his very self. Sometimes it bothered her that Alex treated them like kids and made fun of - whatever it was - between them. But when she finally helped _Alex_ once or twice, when his accidental collection rose above the level safe for him, she understood his worry about Scott. He was feeling protective about his little brother and he knew Jean was one of the most powerful persons he had came in contact with.

Well, Jean was protective, _too_. Scott had very quickly became one of Jean's five favourite persons in the whole world. She wasn't letting him go. She was also most certainly not going to hurt him herself.

After all, he did envision her as an angel, didn't he? She couldn't let him down now.

* * *

From time to time, a major task had to be done at the mansion, and sometimes, undertaking of such task fell to the unwilling "volunteer" simply due to their mutation or abilities. This one she actually _did_ volunteer herself for. Despite the fact that nobody came out and asked for this to be done.

She stood in front of the heavy door that hid a room they had built, following Moira's directions, when they were re-creating the mansion. She knew very well it contained everything a baby may need - all the newest and most inventive child-related gadgetry they could find. It also contained the few things Moira brought from her own home, family heirlooms picked specifically for baby X.

The room had been locked, of course. But she _was_ Jean Grey.

The box she had prepared was too big for the few items that needed to be packed. A frame, a crystal mobile, a soft plush elephant, a pillow. Small items that probably meant the world for Moira.

Jean's hands shook as she picked up and folded the embroidered afghan - Moira's grandmother's work - and fitted it on the top of the box.

There was just one more thing, but she couldn't bear to remove it.

"I'll take it" Peter zipped into the room and stood behind her for a moment. "Where are you going to hide it all?"

She sighed.

"In my room. Until she comes back and asks for them."

He picked up the delicate lacy gown laid out in the middle of the bed.

"She sewed it, you know" Jean sniffed. "She said she doesn't have time to make anything more, what with the world being in danger every week, but it is some tradition in her family and she wanted to sew at least one dress. She said it was going to be a baptism gown."

Peter folded the tiny garment carefully and stuffed it in the box, next to the elephant.

"I'll put it away for you" he offered. "Do you need anything else?"

"Yeah" she sniffed again, in a most unladylike fashion. "Some planks. I'm sealing the room off."

*bzip*

"That should be enough for the windows" he pointed. "And you can melt the locks, and have the door melt into the walls."

She nodded, focusing slowly on the matter around her.

The planks rose from their place and split into shorter and thinner pieces, covering the windows precisely, leaving the room in gloomy darkness. Then the frames of the side door twitched slightly and slowly melded with the door it held. The lock turned into a solid slab of metal, stuck firmly into the frame, the door and the wall.

Silently she strode into the corridor, followed by Peter, for once serious and moving at a reasonable speed.

The door closed behind them, the wood slowly liquifying and then solidifying into a monolith of fiber and varnish.

"Why do you care, Peter?" she asked, not looking at him. "Every time she is mentioned, I know you care. Why? You didn't have that much contact with her."

He shrugged, shuffling from one leg to another.

"I... I might have gotten her to the hospital quicker" he whispered finally. "Maybe they could have saved the baby. Maybe she wouldn't be so sick."

She chuckled, sad sound in a sad part of the mansion.

"You didn't listen to your own father" she leaned against him, briefly. "He said the baby died before she started bleeding. There was nothing you could have done. Even you can't run fast enough to turn back time."

He frowned, face stubborn.

"He may be my father, but a doctor he is not."

"No he isn't, but the ones in the hospital are. They said the hemorrhaging was caused by the very fact that something had already killed the baby. I eavesdropped when he was describing it to the Professor" she admitted, shamelessly. "Also, if you had just zipped her to the hospital, they would have treated you like some madman and, also, you could have damaged something more on the way. You know very well not all of us are used to high velocity, and she was already _bleeding. Inside._ "

He sighed and hugged her, not saying anything.

"You're a good girl, Jean" he said finally. "Thanks."

"Now, take the rest of the planks to the shed" she waited two heartbeats "and let's go get some soda. Normal speed this time."

He rolled his eyes, but accompanied her downstairs, where the others had gathered in the kitchen.

"Any news on Moira?" Alex asked, greeting Peter with a slight punch to the shoulder.

"Erik says she's still in a coma" Peter provided quietly. "They have no idea what is wrong, but every time they think they managed to fix something, she catches something else."

"Is Miss Moira going to be all right?" one of the smaller children asked.

"Of course" Jean answered firmly, crouching in front of the girl. "She just needs to sleep it off, and that may take time. Just like with any other illness, a lot of sleep helps, and she was very very sick. She still is. So it will take some weeks - and a lot of sleep. But she should be back before Christmas, and then we'll make a lot of ornaments for the tree with her, hm?"

Jean was becoming a stabilising anchor for some of the children, in a way, in Moira's place. She didn't know if she really liked the role, but she just couldn't let these smaller ones be left without a shred of support and the teachers were just _no bloody use_ lately.

* * *

She didn't really like using Peter's special ability for recreation, but sometimes, just sometimes, it was hard to be a telepath in a house full of mourning people. So they stole minutes from their days, visiting the closest towns - or some more remote ones, if they managed to get half an hour of free-ish time. The grownups probably noticed them disappearing, but as noone but Professor could positively say they were off grounds, their secret trips were secret, at least until Professor would manage to pull himself out of the deep dark hole he was sitting in - mentally - and take note of the world happening around him.

The slight thrill of travelling with Peter was always there, especially after she managed to find a way to actually watch the world around them - so the run stopped being a general feeling of air hitting her in the eyes, but became an actual journey. She knew quite well she'd never be able to see their surroundings in quite the same way as he did, but it was OK. Peter couldn't move stuff with his mind, she couldn't catch up with him - everything balanced itself out nicely.

* * *

They stopped in some tiny town for an ice cream. Peter had heard that there was that little family-run ice cream shop and it was supposed to be fantastic. It really wasn't, but that didn't take away any of their fun and they giggled like idiots over half-melted, supposedly-chocolatey goo, for no other reason than being finally _out_ of the house and away from their elders. Unfortunately, every conversation finally turned to said elders.

"Sometimes I feel like they don't even trust us enough to tell us what's wrong" Peter grumbled around a mouthful of sprinkles he had swiped from behind the counter. "Erik walks around me as if he's waiting for me to explode or start crying or who knows what. But he doesn't _tell_ me stuff. He just says 'I don't want you to worry' or 'You should focus on your assignments', because, really, as if someone is not worried."

"Did you ever go to check on Moira?" Jean dug a hole in her ice cream with a spoon. "You could have, nobody would even notice."

He shrugged.

"I'm not sure I want to go to the hospital. I'm not an idiot, I know how everything around me reacts when I'm running. What if I damage some important machine, because I used my mutation around it? If I hurt Moira by accident, because her ventilator or whatever stops working because of me?" he shuddered. "Normal stuff doesn't react, but I sometimes see computers flickering differently, so hospital machinery... Too risky."

"Also, if Erik noticed you around..." she smirked.

"Sooo grounded. The downside of having a parent who is also, technically, your teacher, or your boss. And able to stop you from running away."

At least the lemonade was good.

Also, Erik came from the hospital that day with great news.

"She's awake" he said, leaning on one of the kitchen cabinets. "Very disoriented, obviously. The nurses didn't help much, calling her by the surname from the fake papers."

He took off his glasses - Jean was still amused by the mighty Magneto needing glasses for driving - and rubbed his eyes in a tired gesture.

"I should probably go back there soon, before the visiting hours are over. I'm not sure these people know what to do with her, because it's like she's broken in too many places to fix reasonably. Fortunately I found out that glowering works quite well when I need answers."

Magneto. Making a joke at his own expense. The hell froze over and stuff.

"If you work a bit more of your German 'r' into it, you'll have them jumping up much quicker" Sean suggested, as he rummaged in the fridge. "You could take one of us along and we could call you 'Herr Stein', if it helps."

Erik actually rolled his eyes. Rolled.

"I don't think we need _that_ level of deception, thank you very much" he said in very good imitation of Professor' accent. "Being vaguely menacing is enough to make them nervous. We wouldn't want them to hurt Moira because their hands shake too much, would we?"

It was obvious Moira was getting better. It was also obvious nobody had any idea what it was that was actually _wrong_ and Jean could barely restrain herself from influencing Erik's mind and having him take her to the hospital.

* * *

"...she doesn't remember. I'm not sure how much, but..." Erik's voice kind of stumbled "she seems confused. It's as if several time periods were mixed up. She remembers the general things, like people or places, but not _events_."

"And that's why you want me to wear that... thing?"

"If she remembers you only like that, it will be less of a shock, and if she remembers the... new you, it will at least make her laugh."

"Terribly funny."

Jean flattened herself in the doorway as they passed by the point in the corridor where she was hiding.

"Now, what else do we need to take care of?"

"All blood samples, obviously. And..."

They paused and Jean felt a wave of _discomfort/resignation/anger_ coming rather equally from both of them.

"Yeah. I asked them not to show _her_ to Moira. I explained that I don't want them to stress her unduly. I gave them the address of funeral home that will handle everything properly."

The Professor was breathing heavily now, in the sudden silence.

"Well, that was reasonable" he said finally with a choked voice. "We can't be sure of her reaction, and Hank says it's an imperative we get her out of there immediately. He's preparing the serum as we speak."

"So, who would we need to get to the blood samples?"

"Peter is out of the question" Professor said firmly. "He already said that computers go crazy when he comes near, we don't need anymore damages."

Erik made a small sound of agreement.

"Also, I'd rather try weaning him off his kleptomaniac tendencies, thank you very much. Encouraging him to steal stuff from the government..."

"Last time it was _you_ that he stole, you know."

"OK, _fine._ "

And then they stopped talking. Jean froze.

The silence got more and more oppressive. And she couldn't very reasonably reach them with her mind, because even bruised and still-healing Professor was way too sensitive to her mind-touch.

So Jean peeked around the corner and found herself under a scrutiny of two slightly exasperated (in the way that she sensed as sad-but-amused) teachers.

_'Busted, young lady.'_

* * *

"So, instead of supporting your son's thieving career, you intend to initiate _my_ student into the life of crime?"

Erik snickered as he started the car.

"Don't tell me you didn't notice her sneaking around the mansion, eavesdropping on us. She may be very good at hiding herself from human eye and mind, but she forgot about some details."

Jean buckled up next to him and gave him a questioning look.

He made one of these tiny movements she came to associate with him using his power, and her watch and trousers buttons vibrated just for a tiny moment.

_Crap._

"Jean" Professor' warning made her groan.

"Next time I'll wear a dress and ditch the watch" she declared.

Her earrings pulled slightly on her ears.

_SERIOUSLY!_

Professor had the temerity to grin at her.

She was soo, soo screwed.

At least they didn't know about...

She managed to stop herself at the very last second and Professor's surprised "omph?" from the backseat gave her a fleeting sense of satisfaction.

"So, what am I supposed to steal?" she asked in a conversational tone.

"They took a lot of Moira's blood for tests" Erik explained, his face suddenly drawn in worry. "And they did some tests, of course, but still there may be some left, even despite the fact that I stole a bunch - the ones that were on a steel rack. I can't reach the ones stored in plastic containers. And I wouldn't know which ones were hers, if they are mixed with others."

She nodded slowly.

"I can probably locate her blood, by association, and I already know her general aura well enough" she mused. "And take it out in some quiet way. Do you want it taken or just destroyed? Burning it may be easier than trying to move all of it through the ventilation or something."

Erik shot Professor a questioning look.

"Destroyed" was immediate decision. "Quicker, more efficient and, if you knock some other vials around and pull a few stoppers, it will look like an accident, still not leaving a trace of Moira there."

She sighed quietly with relief. Moving any bigger amount of vials - or loose blood - would have been much more challenging.

"Next part will be harder" Professor added, worry in his voice. "You will have to do the memory correction. Erik will deal with the paperwork, I'll try to add some suggestive cover to the car and to us three and lay groundwork for you, but you will be the cleanup crew. We need them to have very convincing, very incorrect memory of what we looked like, just on the right side of vague. So that they don't have suspiciously identical stories. Make Erik have a mole, or a scar - but changing the position. And so on. Change our hair colour..." he suddenly sat up and started to affix the wig on his head. "Completely forgot about _this_ " he hissed. "I will need to use a bit of suggestion to make everyone think this is real. Additional point to throwing whoever may be looking for us off the scent."

She quietly, in the corner of her mind, made a note to never, ever involve either of them in case she was in trouble that needed discretion, planning or subterfuge. _Ever_.

* * *

The vials were thankfully gathered in one place, so in the time it took Erik to get the papers processed and Professor to get to see Moira and lay groundwork for Jean's mind-correction - she still couldn't work out what Erik and Professor did to make him look like he was actually _walking_ \- she managed to burn the contents to ashes, open a number of other vials and topple a few of the racks. Very quietly.

* * *

The hospital stank of unhappy, hurting people and it was making her head spin. She really wanted to get out of there sooner than immediately and the guard at the entrance was actually _flirting_ with her. As in, trying to get her number and not letting her through.

She had to use slight suggestion of a large rat running across the courtyard to get him off her case and managed to make her way upstairs quickly.

Moira was dressed already, and a nurse was helping her pack, so Jean could finally - _finally!_ \- give in to the need and fuss over Moira excessively. The quiet, calm, warm glow of Moira's mind felt like sunburn lotion on her overheated skin. Which might have made Jean a bit more effusive than normally. A bit.

As they walked - and rode - down the corridor to the elevator, she worked quietly on the minds of the staff and patients they passed, replacing their images with distorted versions. Erik's tall, muscled figure was overwritten by something much more resembling a cartoon version of a Bavarian beer lover. Professor needed only slightly longer hair, a few tweaks to his clothes and the general feel of "overripe hippie". Moira gained a few grey strands in her hair, a few pounds and a pronounced German accent. She had much easier task with herself, mostly switching her hair colour and face to something resembling the image Raven used to wear, just overblown, sweeter and cuter.

By the time they reached the car, she was mentally wrung out and barely thinking, so when Professor asked if they were far enough from the hospital, she confirmed without hesitating. And without ever reminding him that _Moira_ probably actually did lose a big chunk of her memories, as she didn't react to the wig in the first place.

* * *

Moira looked as if she was trying to throw up everything she had eaten at the hospital. Which wouldn't be all that much, but still. Jean finally dared to touch her hand and slowly draw her up, away from the tree. As the older woman trembled - with both fear _and_ anger - Jean scanned their surroundings.

"There's this stone wall, just behind the trees" she pointed. "We can sit there and I'll try to tell you what happened."

_'Jean.'_

She wilfully ignored him, throwing a wall into his face.

They slowly made their way down to the tree line, and the low wall that was probably a leftover of some kind of construction. Jean helped Moira to lower herself gingerly to one of the cleanest spots and sat next to her, hugging her loosely to support the weakened woman.

"What was _that_?" Moira managed to ask, after a few false starts.

And in a flash, Jean understood her teachers reaction, as she caught one terrified word. _Chemotherapy_.

_Oh, God, no wonder she panicked._

"That is what the Professor looks like now" Jean explained quickly, rubbing soothing circles on the older woman's shoulder. "His hair was burned off, completely, in the battle with Apocalypse. I'm guessing you don't remember this, then."

Moira shook her head mutely.

"What _do_ you remember? Last thing you are sure of?"

She saw Moira took a shaky breath and still herself in focus.

"I remember we had a lesson... on general first aid" she said slowly. "What to do if there is no mutant with healing powers around. You were bandaging Marcia's hand and boys were running around, trying to dress each other in bras made from triangular bandages. I think Marcia might have hit one of them with static. Then we were collecting all the rolls and bandaids into the giant box, and when Tom was carrying it to the storage, he fell down because of the tremor. And we were running to the..." she faltered. "To Cerebro? Why were we going to Cerebro? And then there was this... this..."

"The blast" Jean explained slowly. "And they kidnapped the Professor."

Moira shook her head.

"I don't remember. I just remember pain, as if someone was trying to pull my heart out. And then I woke up, and I couldn't see, and everything was _so wrong_. And I was already in the hospital."

"Crap."

Moira suddenly looked at her with widening eyes.

"How much did I lose? What _happened_?!"

Jean grimaced. There was no way around it.

"Well, there was that mutant called Apocalypse. He kidnapped Professor, right in front of our eyes. And then CIA kidnapped you, Hank, Peter and Raven. Scott, Kurt and I kind of... hitched a ride. And then we got you all out, because it was in some crazy place in Canada, and they were keeping mutants there and doing experiments. So we kind of freed that guy and he did most of the work for us. And once we got out... we, well, we kind of stole a military jet and went to Cairo to find them. That Apocalypse mutant decided he will get rid of all nuclear weapons - which wasn't that bad - but he also had this idea of getting rid of mostly all higher civilisation and reducing everyone to slavery. He wanted to jump to Professor's body, because he gained the skills and powers from every body he stole, and he had never seen mind control like that."

"Good thing he didn't try with you first" Moira commented absently. "We'd be in much deeper crap."

"And I'd be the bald one" Jean said before she managed to stop herself. "Sorry..."

"No worries. And then?" Moira leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her head on one hand.

"Then we fought him. And his helpers. We killed one, and one is gone - we'll have to be on a lookout for that girl."

Moira frowned.

"Apocalypse. He should actually have been assisted by four then, shouldn't he?"

Jean licked her lips nervously.

_Um._

"Yes, he should."

"Was he?"

_Well._

"Yes, he was, Miss Moira."

"Uh-huh. Don't you Miss Moira me. What happened to the other two?"

Jean fidgeted, playing with the hem of her shirt.

There was stuff you could tell your favourite teacher and there was the fact that said teacher had - by all account - sucked face with one of the horsemen of Apocalypse.

"JEAN."

"Ororo is at the school" she managed to squeak. "She's cool. You like her, actually. He just totally brainwashed her and then she saw right through him when he tried to kill Mystique, because she just _adores_ Mystique, and..."

"Fine. Ororo is cool. And the other one? How did you manage to talk down that one? And where is..."

Jean couldn't really stop herself from wincing. And the quick glance she threw in the general direction of the car probably didn't help either.

Moira squeezed her eyes shut.

"I think I need some rest" she said very, very slowly. "Preferably alone, away from all sounds that humans make. And mutants."

"Do you want me to tell you the rest?"

Moira's cool hand closed around her fingers.

_'Maybe this way. Picture paints a thousand words.'_

Jean breathed in relief and took Moira on a quick tour through the following three months - from the rebuilding of the mansion, through the weeks of healing, especially for Alex, who had been the closest to the blast, through all the various things that went on at the school, week after week. And, finally, to the day when the _second_ attack happened. Jean managed to keep some details - skipping a specific weekend, too - away from her, because she really didn't want Moira to learn that stuff _that way_.

Moira rubbed her middle uncomfortably.

"Suddenly, all the mutants were hit with _something_. The ones who were using their powers were the worst off. I was actually under the shower, so I wasn't using anything, so for me it was like a moment of nausea. Everyone else got in some way overcharged on what they normally did, so Raven couldn't control her changes, Peter kept speeding up uncontrollably and Sean broke a few windows before he just stopped talking. And Scott burned through his glasses. And the Professor... he was talking to someone at that moment, so his brain was, well. Hank said "sunny side up" at some point. And the baby died. And you almost died, too" Jean finished quietly. "And then Hank found out that someone had created a signal that affects mutants before the time of their power expression. Several younger children died on that day. The grownups were only injured to some degree, but the children just... died."

"Impossible" Moira's eyes were even rounder than normally.

"Hank checked the hospital statistics, once he isolated the signal. All children under seven, all died of various kinds of brain bleeds. They made it to be a chemical attack, but Hank says it was very specific and very focused. On us."

Moira hugged herself.

"So... there may be a lot of women in the area who suddenly miscarried, and then... Oh god, these poor girls! And they wouldn't have all that help that I did!"

"He checked" Jean could give her at least that much relief. "Nobody on the same day. Not even one woman checked in to a hospital with miscarriage. And that's good, definitely. Because the mess would have been even worse..."

Moira looked up at her in suspicion.

"Why?"

Jean stood up and tried to formulate the words correctly.

"Because Hank found out what is wrong with you. He told Professor all of this just today, in the morning. They haven't told me yet, but Professor _leaks_ like a faulty bucket, when he's stressed, and in the car I managed to catch it."

Moira straightened, wincing at the movement.

_'What is it?'_

Jean took a deep breath.

"It seems that sometimes during miscarriage - but I'd have to check it to make sure - the blood from the baby may, well, wash back, into the mother's body."

Moira went quite pale.

"So, all this... this coma, and..."

"It is baby X's blood" Jean confirmed sadly. "Your system is fighting the wrong DNA, the baby's DNA. But because it's _mutant blood_ , it just isn't that easy to get rid of. Hank prepared a serum - something along the lines of what he takes to make the blue him hide. You didn't notice it, but Professor slipped a tiny dose of it into your IV when he went up to see you. That's why we can sit here and talk at all and you're not collapsing with random symptoms."

She saw her teacher make one of these "looking inside herself" faces, a bit akin to what a beginning telepath would make.

"Wow" Moira breathed softly. "It's like someone took away this terrible heavy thing I was carrying and I didn't even notice."

"That was the idea, love."

They both jumped up just a tiny bit.

Jean blushed fiercely, feeling sneaked upon.

"Don't worry. You were so preoccupied that we could have run a whole circus around you and you wouldn't have noticed."

He made his way slowly towards them and reached out, almost but not quite touching Moira's shoulder.

"Love" he said in such a broken, uncertain way that Jean's heart constricted. "Please. Come to the car and let's go home. We can talk there. And we'll explain everything that Jean couldn't."

She caught Moira's hand and squeezed it, sending just a tiny _love_ message along the link.

_'I know. But I can't just...'_

_'You can'_ Jean found herself feeling a bit overwhelmed with the situation, so she decided to play dirty. _'And if we wait any longer, whatever they have managed to cook up to make him walk will fail and we'll have to carry him.'_

_'Oh, OK'_ Moira grumbled mentally.

"Love?"

_'He does sound a bit desperate, doesn't he?'_

They both stood up at the same moment.

"I'm going" Moira said, shaking slightly, not looking straight at the Professor and pulling her hands up and away from him. "But I'm not sure I can talk to any of you right now. Please don't touch me, any of you."

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, with Jean quietly and discreetly basking in the soft light - despite all of the crap that happened - that Moira's mind emitted.


	35. Hank, Prepared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 more chapters left. Will be posted tomorrow.

**Hank, Prepared**

The isolation room was cleared of all unnecessary clutter. The lab was sparkling clean. The blood supplements were carefully sorted in the cooler. The serum was bottled into injection bottles.

There was just no patient.

Hank was halfway through rearranging of the second shelf of assorted lab glassware when Peter appeared in the doorway. He had to note with appreciation that Peter made no step inside.

"They're coming. Half a mile from the house when I saw them last."

Hank replaced the measuring cup carefully, but caught the prepared bag - and stretcher - in a quick grab and dashed to the front entrance. Still, it took an additional minute or two for the car to ride up the gravelled lane. The moment the car stopped, Jean came spilling from the front seat and wrenched the back door open.

_'Now, Hank! It's happening again!'_

Moira was pale. He saw sweat beading on her forehead and moved quickly, catching her when Jean's strength gave out.

"I can't lift her, I've been keeping her under for the last fifteen minutes. If I try to do something else..."

"I have her" he heaved the prone body onto the stretcher and quickly searched for an appropriate vein. "Damn these doctors" he growled, looking at the variety of bruises and scars covering her forearms.

"Here" Jean pointed out a bit that seemed relatively available. "But be careful, the new thing started with a fever, maybe twenty minutes ago. No idea how much pain she's in. I don't want to touch her mind right now more than I have to just to keep her calm."

Hank filled in a syringe and very slowly performed the injection.

"It should be a muscle injection, normally, but in this case..." he rubbed his face. "Let's hope it gives her enough advantage. Now, Alex, take the stretcher with me. **Alex!** "

"Yeah" the other end of the stretcher was finally picked up and they moved inside at healthy speed. Jean followed them, holding Moira's hand.

"What were you all thinking!?" Hank managed to ask as they ran towards the lab. "The dose I managed to make for Charles should have been enough for you all to get here safely! Why did you take so long?"

"Hank..." Moira gasped and coughed weakly. "Stop!"

Both men skidded to a halt and had to witness helplessly as Jean supported Moira's upper body and helped her to safely throw up into a trashcan she moved closer for the purpose.

"Less... running..." she wheezed. "My balance is so off I'm not sure which way is up. But being carried at a run isn't helping."

The rest of the way to the lab was covered in a much more sedate pace.

"What the hell happened?" he asked Jean hotly as they transferred Moira to the bed. "You were supposed to come straight here from the hospital! What did you do, go shopping?"

"My fault" Moira provided, raising her oxygen mask for a moment. "Had a panic attack."

"Professor took his wig off without checking first and she kind of freaked out" Jean translated. "And that probably used up more serum, so in total..."

Moira nodded and then eased back on the pillow.

"It's like working in a bloody kindergarten" Hank complained, setting up an IV stand.

"Tell me about it" Moira mumbled under the mask.

"And you, shut up" he pointed at her. "Suck on that sweet sweet oxygen and let me fix you, finally. God, this is going to take days. But at least _now_ we know what we're doing."

"Fetal DNA" Moira mumbled.

"Yes. I'm very sorry, Moira, but this is going to be one long treatment. I can't guarantee a stable outcome, because maybe you'll have to take the shots every day, or maybe I'll manage some permanent solution, but at least we know the direction now. Jean, did you get rid of any samples they had at the hospital? That's good. Who knows what they could have found, if they decided to send them to some crime lab, or even worse, to some federal agency."

Jean shivered at the thought.

"Now, Moira, your blood pressure seems fine, the heartbeat is fine, no murmurs or any sign of arrhythmia. I hear stuff in your lungs though, so I suppose we need another round of antibiotics. We'll have to bring your red cell count a bit up, too, and your white cells are shot to hell after six weeks at the hospital..." he checked the monitor. "We have to add a lot and lot of supplements, and I suppose I'd maintain the level of painkillers they used."

"They also used some light sedatives" Jean added helpfully. "I'm keeping her calmed down now, but if I let go..."

Moira grumbled something from behind the mask.

"Yeah, let's add these, too" he scribbled a note on the chart. "Best not to take anyone off any kind of psychotropes too fast, unless we want a big fat withdrawal syndrome. Now, Jean, I have to talk to Charles, so you stay here, keep her calm until the morphine kicks in. And, Moira? Nice to have you back" he patted her hand. "Let's get you back in order and out there, making the kids behave. They were _all_ absolutely miserable without you. Alex?"

The other man looked at him in surprise.

"I'm staying here" he said plainly. "There is no fucking way I'm leaving this room."

* * *

Having been banned from the lab by Hank, Charles was fiddling with the controls of his wheelchair. Had he been mobile, he would have been pacing, but pacing in a wheelchair required too much detailed control, so he fiddled. Erik was standing by the window, smoking - again - and Hank's nose twitched at the smell. At least since deciding to stay he switched to some better brand of cigarettes, because the European crap he used to smoke smelled like chopped up old socks.

"How is she?" Charles asked finally, sounding about as tired as Hank himself felt.

"Getting better. No thanks to any of you. How could you have been so irresponsible?" he growled the last part and threw himself into an armchair. "She managed to develop bronchitis! In fifteen minutes! It may take a week to get rid of it, with massive amounts of antibiotics. Now she's under an IV, Jean is waiting for the sedatives to kick in, before she lets her go. Alex is there, too, just in case."

"He is there to make sure she's alive" Charles corrected softly. "He is still traumatised after... And he didn't really believe any of what Erik told us about her state. He would never say it openly, but somewhere inside Alex was quite sure she was dead."

"Well, he can sit with her, if it makes him feel better. She will be better off with someone always being there, and I can't really, because the last time I slept properly" he yawned like a crocodile "was about two days ago, or so. Now, I need to tell you one more thing, Charles, and this is not going to be... damn, it's hard."

Erik frowned from his spot by the window and Hank briefly considered asking him to leave, but a small twinge of instinct told him to leave the man be.

"What is it, Hank?" Charles leaned forward on his desk. "Is it about Moira?"

He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose to massage the point where they normally rested.

"Moira will get better, that much we know. Serum worked when you used it at the hospital, and now it's definitely working - the chemical composition of her blood changes, and her heart rate is coming back to normal. I've been running tests every ten minutes since the first full injection. But there are future concerns, Charles. Specifically, pertaining to Moira and _you_."

His friend frowned and looked at him quizzically.

"What do you mean? I understand that in cases like this many pairs have problems, but..."

"That's not it" he interrupted immediately. "What happens between the two of you, in social sense, is all your business. My business, as the supposed physician of this circus, is maintaining the physiological part of the equation. You two are bonkers about each other, that much everyone knows. You will survive. One way or another. But, as the physician, I have to tell you one important thing" he took a deep breath. "Moira can't have children. Not anymore."

Charles' face fell and he leaned back, blinking furiously.

"What... there is nothing about it in the papers from the hospital..."

"They wouldn't know. Actually, I phrased it badly. Technically, she is able to become pregnant. The outcome, however, would be bad. She should not, under any circumstances, even try to conceive. The baby X's DNA that flooded her body put all of her immune system on high alert. Should she become pregnant again, her organism will fight against it, and we may see exactly the same series of quickly-progressing illnesses, similar to what had happened now. Or worse, depending on the actual reaction."

"So... no more children" Charles swallowed and closed his eyes tightly.

"I'll make some more tests" Hank added, trying to be a little bit hopeful. "I'll see if it is the risk in case of _any_ child or just a _mutant_ one."

"Dear God" Charles sank lower onto his arms, hiding his face in the dark wood of his desk. "I can't even... _Why us?_ "

"I'm sorry, Charles" he stood up and patted his friend's back. "But I'm just saying what it is. I know it will be hard, but..." he tried to find something comforting to say. "We are all here, for the both of you."

He was by the door already when he heard Charles' weak voice.

"Hank?"

He turned back towards the desk, finding Charles running his hands over the top of his head, as he started to since his hair was burned off.

"Is there any chance... I mean, if it's any baby, then any, and we'll know there is no chance. But, if it's just about the baby being a mutant... The percentage of mutant children of two non-mutant parents is very low, that much we know, so maybe there would be still a chance."

"What do you mean, Charles?" Hank asked, feeling more and more tired with every second.

"I mean that we already know that my spine treatment affects my DNA" Charles' eyes were glowing in the gloom of the unlit room. "So I'd be willing to sacrifice a few months, if Moira wanted to try again and we had a chance of making it work."

"Charles."

"Erik, I know what I'm doing. I've done it before, for much more selfish reasons. At least now I would not be doing it just because I'm bloody depressed and it's this or more drugs than I've ever taken before. And there will be no booze, no locking myself in my room, no shutting down the school. This time it would be done with a purpose. Because if my wife wishes to try for another child, I'm going to do everything in my power to make it so. Even if it means doing _without_ my powers for some time."

Hank slowly took off his glasses and polished them on his sleeve.

"I'll check it. But you _have_ to discuss it with Moira before I even start working on the treatment again."

There was no way he would start treating Charles without his wife's knowledge. He valued his own life too much to risk the wrath of Moira, should she find out her husband was shutting down his telepathy without consulting it with her.

* * *

He managed to make it to his room and actually into the shower before the blue fuzz broke through. His hands shook violently as he rinsed off and turned his face towards the shower head to wash off the tiredness.

_Moira will be fine_ he repeated like a mantra. _Moira will be fine, Charles will be fine, we will all be fine_.

Despite the fact that apparently the school couldn't go for three months without having a major crisis, he _hoped_ with all his might.

Brushing his teeth as the Beast became even more important, as the predator's jaw was more of a challenge to clean correctly, and he hated waking up with the morning breath of _that_ form already. If he forgot to brush, floss and use mouthwash, it was unbearable.

Despite the fur and general lack of need for proper attire, he slept in shorts, just in case an emergency occurred during the night. It was much better than running around bareassed amongst all the children and, especially, older students.

It was fortunate, because when he left the shower - as the _original_ teacher, he had grabbed one of the rooms with a bathroom for himself - Raven was in his chair, curled up and half-asleep.

"Dear God, Raven, didn't they ever teach you the concept of knocking?" he asked testily. "What are you doing here, at this hour?"

She blinked, shaking her head.

"You weren't answering" she explained. "So I let myself in, and I've heard the shower, so I thought I could wait for you, but it took so long..."

"I told you, washing this fur is not fun. And towelling it off is even worse. Why are you here?" he asked brusquely, heading for his bed.

"I... I wanted to ask how Moira was" she said finally. "And it's not only because of Charles, but I... I've spent whole day thinking about what you told me, and I kind of feel I owe her, a lot, you know. When we were at the CIA compound, she was the one who _noticed_ us being girls - and I mean silly stuff, like when showed Angel and me where the ladies' room was, and where the shower room was and... basically, everything. She even did some off-base shopping for us. You know, girl stuff. It sounds stupid now, but at the time it was like she validated our being there. Everyone else saw us all as, like, a mass of generic freaks, it didn't make any difference for them that we were _women_. She noticed - probably simply because she was one of the few that could commiserate."

He shook his head.

"She's sick again, but she should be fine once the antibiotics start working and the serum allows her body to rest a bit. Alex is sitting with her and Charles should be there, too, once he manages to find the courage. She should be up and about in a week, maybe ten days."

She slithered up from the chair and stood in front of him. Her sulfur-yellow eyes stared at him, unblinkingly, as she reached up and slowly pulled his head down to herself.

"I'm tired, Raven" he sighed, kissing her forehead in an avoiding manner.

"Let me hold you then" she pulled him towards his huge, form-appropriate bed. "Nothing else, just let me hold you."

She settled herself up against the pillows and watched as he slowly crawled under the covers next to her. She adjusted her position so that he could lay with his head on her shoulder, supported by the pillows at the same time, in order not to crush her.

"Now" she threaded her fingers through his hair. "You sleep. I will make sure nobody disturbs you."

He _purred_ , which didn't happen very often, as her fingers went around and behind his ear, and she chuckled softly.

"Sleep, Hank" she massaged his forehead slowly with her fingertips and he felt his eyes close out of sheer relief. "You saved her, you can sleep now."


	36. Moira and Charles, Working it out

She came to on a new bed, surrounded by a completely unknown array of instruments. There were only two IVs set above her and a single, slim cable running from somewhere under her clothes to the machine steadily and quietly beeping on her side. The room had no window and the door seemed more like an entrance to a vault than anything belonging in a hospital, but the whole place seemed much bigger than any standard hospital room she had ever seen. A far bench displayed several high-tech machines, a few computer monitors, a weird TV set, at least two keyboards and a rack of glass vials filled with multicoloured fluids.

As she surveyed the room, she moved her hands cautiously to check her fine motor skills. She almost jumped out of her skin when one of the hands got captured and she suddenly felt lips pressed to her knuckles.

"Sleep" she heard him murmur. "You need sleep, love."

With great effort she managed to turn her head enough to see his upper body lain on the bed beside her, her left hand captured in his right, his lips skimming her fingertips now.

"I think I've been sleeping quite long enough" she said, her voice rough in her own ears.

He straightened a bit, pushing himself up on his left elbow, his left hand cradling her hip possessively.

"I think a few more hours wouldn't be that bad" he said sadly. "From what Hank says, exhaustion is what will be affecting you most in the next few days. He guesses it will feel, in total, like a bout of flu - your whole body fighting with the infection - not to mention bronchitis on top of it. So the best way to get through that period would be, in fact, to sleep it off."

She freed her fingers from his grasp and tentatively traced his cheek, then moved up and slightly back - he obediently bowed his head as she explored the shape of his skull with her palm and fingertips.

"Oh, God, Charles" she could only whisper. " _Charles_."

"Shh" he caught the hand on his cheek and kissed the inside of her palm again. "It will be fine. Some day, not soon, but it will be. We'll _make_ it better."

She shook her head mutely and he sighed, nodding slightly.

"You're right" he admitted, his hand slowly rubbing circles on her blanket-clad side. "We can't really make it much better. But it will _be_ better, at some point. You're home, that's a definite improvement, isn't it? And we know why you're sick. And Hank knows how to treat it now."

She breathed slowly and shuddered, his warm hand holding her, stabilising her, _grounding_ her.

"I'm home" she said finally in a small voice. "I'm home."

* * *

He had moved his chair closer up to her so that they could talk without waking Alex - Charles pointed him out to her, asleep on the next cot over.

"He's been miserable" he whispered. "We couldn't help him all that much, and with sun being identified as their energy source, both he and Scott are mostly stuck at home all day. Hank hadn't managed to work out anything that would help them, except for a full-body suit, So they are restless, plus Scott barely got over the trauma of Alex maybe dying after that explosion, and then the second attack... and Alex was the one who found _you_ in the main hall..."

She squeezed her eyes shut. That was the part that everyone remembered but her. She felt _guilty_ for not remembering what they all did for her.

"Do you think my memory will come back some day?"

He slowly shook his head.

"We don't even know why you lost it. I don't want to dig in your memories just yet, and Jean said she is not going to, unless we think it's something vital. She became very strict on ethical usage of her stronger powers recently."

She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment.

"I'm not sure I can ask her to do this. She might see way too much of the stuff we were actively trying to shield her from normally."

He hid his face in the blanket and groaned.

"Yes, I'd much rather avoid getting my student that well educated in the details of our private life, thank you, love."

* * *

"What was the plan with the hair? What were you trying to achieve?" she asked with reproach, her hand still exploring the back of his head tentatively.

"We thought the wig may lessen the shock - or make you laugh, at least" Charles explained a bit sheepishly.

"Oh, no. I'm engaged to an idiot" she moaned, her head dropping to the pillows again.

"More like married to one" Alex's slurred words made her sit up straight despite weariness. "Nice to have you back, Moira" he slowly slid off his cot, straightened his shirt and leaned over her to peck her her on the cheek. "You'll be fine now, won't you? Not going to die on us and leave us with this idiot all broken?"

She nodded jerkily.

"Then I'll leave you two to it" he said, yawned and left them in absolute silence broken only by tiny "peep" from the machine registering Moira's sudden spike in heart rate.

"Charles?" she rubbed her face with the free hand. "Did I actually _forget our wedding_?"

"Ah" he coughed. "Unfortunately, it's quite probable, yes."

"Was there anything else in these three months that I might have a need to know? Did we fight aliens?"

"No."

"Had a very quick World War Three?"

"No."

"Any of the students transforms into an interesting animal I should know of?"

"No, not according to my knowledge."

"The house is still there?"

"Jean and Erik put it together exactly as it used to be. Well, almost."

"Mhm. Any unexpected family news? Because Erik had already told me about Raven and Kurt, so maybe, if there is anything else waiting for me, you could tell me right now?"

He frowned, trying to find the right words.

"Erik has a son" he said finally, as simply as he could. "And a daughter. Actually, they are twins."

She opened her eyes and looked at him in surprise.

"What?"

"Turns out that Peter - ah, you probably don't remember Peter, but, well, he helped us a lot since Apocalypse - is Erik's son. And as he has a twin sister, well, turns out Erik actually does have a bit of family, despite what had happened."

"What... What _had_ happened?"

He rubbed circles into her palm.

"Erik was in Europe, that much we knew, right?"

She nodded slowly.

"Turns out the moment Apocalypse woke up, there was a small earthquake in the factory Erik was working in. He saved people from being crushed by the machinery, but of course that meant everyone noticed his powers. Local authorities came for him, and in their idiocy, managed to kill his wife... and daughter" he breathed slowly to stave off the sympathetic fury he felt every time he recalled Erik's emotions. "He went... mad. Worse, much worse than it was the first time when we met him. He lost any reason to stay connected to anyone else - not even other mutants, in fact. He tried to kill the workers in his workplace, but Apocalypse found him there, killed the people and recruited Erik. He was much to easy to hook with a promise of unlimited power and total destruction - well, you can guess his volatility makes it so much easier for such chances to entice him."

"Oh, God" she bit into her knuckles.

"And then El Sabah Nuhr used Erik's link to me to jump directly here, into Cerebro actually. They..." he sighed. "They took me. I didn't know at the time - but Jean and Hank put this together later - Alex tried shooting them, but instead hit some engine whatever that Hank was testing. The whole thing went up in flames and... suddenly everyone was standing on the front lawn, the house blowing up, kids scattered around the garden and then a military jet landed and took the four of you - Hank, Raven, Peter and you - into custody. Kurt, Scott and Jean managed to get on board and then freed you from the location you were kept in. By the way, Stryker is still running free and I think we should deal with him at some point. Anyway, long story short, we came back home, some more bruised than others, Scott had a panic attack because Alex wasn't waking up due to his burns, Jean and Erik reconstructed the house..."

She raised a finger.

"I see a little plot hole in that story" she said weakly. "How come we found ourselves on the lawn if we were inside during the explosion?"

He kissed the finger.

"That is where Peter comes in. He took all of you out of the house before the explosion actually happened."

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook a little.

"What?"

"He is _fast_. We didn't manage to measure it yet, but he's so fast he emptied the whole school before the house was blown up. Anyway, it turns out that sometime before Erik had met us all these years ago, he had passed through a small town nearby - in search of these people he was bent on eliminating then - and he had a... a fling. With a local girl. Local girl found out she was pregnant after he left, but she never contacted him - mostly because once she managed to identify him on TV, he was already an international terrorist. She told Peter, though. Now, sharing the details would be up to Peter and Erik, but when you were in the h-hospital, Erik learnt by accident what Peter's full name was and managed to work out the rest. And later it turned out Peter has a twin sister, so now Erik's all torn about this" he shook his head lightly. "And the whole situation with the school being attacked, and, and you, and us all... It isn't helping. I just hope Peter tethers him firmly enough for him to stay."

Moira blinked away the tears threatening to fall.

"So he was sitting with me, at the hospital, while still _mourning his wife and daughter_?" she said softly, growing more and more worried. "He was there, all that time, hurting, and... and he never even _told me_?"

"It was his choice, love" Charles sounded rather dejected. "He said he was the most probable one to convince the hospital he was your husband and so he had to go - but I suppose Hank would have been OK, too, although Erik doesn't agree. He was in the best state to drive you there, anyway, and then to stay with you, too. After all, Hank was more needed here, in the lab, to find out what was wrong with you. In the end, Erik's choice was the best - if not good for everyone involved then at least the best of rather poor options we had."

* * *

They sat in silence, with him rubbing her palm soothingly and trying to send as much _calm/comfort_ into her as he could and her holding back the tears.

A bell rang in the distance and they both twitched at the sound. Moira pushed herself a bit higher on her pillows.

"Does this mean we have two teachers with the same surname?" she asked mock-lightly, her voice still shaky. "That may cause some problems."

"Actually, we do, but we found a solution" Erik said from the door, where he had apparently been standing for some time, watching them. "There is a Professor Xavier and a _Doctor_ Xavier."

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Ah" she said breathlessly. "I..."

"We know, love" Charles squeezed her hand. "You considered going back to your actual maiden name, but then you thought it would be safer not to - not that I agree, but it was your choice to make."

She nodded slowly.

"That makes sense" she paused and thought about it. "Moira MacTaggert wasn't the happiest person - at least, not until the very end. Moira Kinross... was so long ago I barely remember her anymore."

Erik sat opposite Charles, on her right side.

"Being Moira Xavier doesn't seem like a walk in a park either" he half-smiled. "But now you have a school full of people very intent on making sure _Professor Xavier_ takes good care of you. To the extent of his limited capabilities."

Charles managed to hit him on the forehead with a bottle cap.

"Are you sure someone with this level of aggression should be allowed around children, Moira?" Erik picked up the blue piece of plastic from the floor and sent it back towards Charles. "That may be considered a bad example."

"Because really, you are the picture of restraint and peace" Charles shot the cap back towards his friend. "And using obscenities in Polish in front of the students is an actual _bad example_. Did you notice how the youngest ones started swearing recently?"

Erik actually _blushed_ , to Moira's surprise.

"That was only one time, and it was only because Peter managed to find something even more idiotic to do than running up a tree."

Charles straightened, frowning.

"And why didn't I hear about it?"

"Because, in this case, parents of both participants were present at the scene of crime and we managed to resolve the issue, well, inside the symbolical family units."

"Which means that Raven looked at Kurt semi-sternly for fifteen seconds tops and you barraged Peter with a dressing-down, Eastern Europe style, for half an hour?"

"Well, it may have happened like this, if you must know. Anyway, one of the kids managed to catch pieces of what I said and they are now repeating it. Actually, what they are repeating most often is not a curse, I'll have you know."

"Really."

"They are saying 'choroba', which is more or less 'sickness'. Not much of an obscenity, I'm afraid. But it does contain a rather satisfactory use of 'r'."

"As if you cared. You were using a lot of German ones I actually recognised when Alex managed to block the garage door by accident."

"He shouldn't have been playing with the lock then!"

"You still should not be using 'arschloch' in the vicinity of little ears. They were _delighted_ to learn it!"

"But...!"

Suddenly both of them found their lips sealed shut by Moira's outstretched hands.

"Both of you, quiet" she said in her best vice-principal voice. "Erik, you _will_ contain yourself on the school grounds and use age-appropriate language around the children. Charles, you _will_ instruct the kids that not everything they hear is to be repeated on and on. Also, you will _both_ stop throwing bottlecaps at each other. Is this understood?"

They nodded slowly.

"Now, can one of you please fetch me something to drink? And Hank? I'm afraid my temperature is raising."

* * *

The massive amount of antibiotics and painkillers Hank was pumping into her system was definitely making her sleepy. She wavered between the states of full consciousness and deep sleep, sometimes with no gradient of stages between. There was always someone with her - Charles, Jean or Alex, usually. Sometimes a napping Hank. Sometimes Scott, who made use of his afternoon hours - when he didn't even want to sit upstairs, because of the low evening sun - and did his homework while guarding her.

It took her additional four days to get cleared of the bronchitis and the general treatment was seemingly taking care of... of the additional DNA, so Hank deemed her strong enough to be unhooked from all interesting machines and move upstairs. As long as she promised and not to overexert herself and to submit to a jab with a needle every three hours, she was "cleared for light duty".

That consisted mostly of working through mountains of paperwork, checking reading assignments for the youngest children, shouting encouragement at girls doing their _kata_ , remaking the schedule for Home Ed lessons with a wicked smile - requiring at least two grownup males at each of them with the proviso that none of these could be Hank, reading to the youngest group (freeing Jean but including Ororo, who needed more practice in reading English), being showered with affection by the youngest group, being showered with affection by Charles, being quietly guarded by one of the Summers brothers, being quietly checked on by Erik, setting up the "girl room" with Jean and Ororo and, finally, spending as much time as physically possible with Charles.

* * *

Erik knocked on her half-open door and entered when he saw her raise her head.

"I'm afraid we need to talk" he said without a preamble, sitting in the chair next to hers. "Because Charles is… he is too afraid to raise the point."

She took off her glasses and folded them slowly, buying herself some time. His own were in the pocket of his shirt and he looked oddly vulnerable like this, without the additional layer of armour on his face.

"What is it?" she leaned back on the supportive brace at the to of her chair that Hank had set up for her to avoid straining her back.

"We have to…" he started and sighed. "We have to make funeral preparations. The hospital staff was kind enough to wait for us to make a decision, but since we transferred _her_ to the funeral house, we need to proceed soon. I understand - and Charles certainly does - if you don't feel up to the task, so we will organise everything, but… He said you had discussed names, but because you still don't remember that time, he doesn't want to suggest any of them. And he is too afraid to just come and ask you plainly. So, we need you to make one decision."

She rubbed her nose to stop the tears.

* * *

Jean cried for the whole afternoon in her room when she had learnt what Moira had decided.

* * *

The director of the funeral home looked from the lawyer's face to the small stack of documents in front of him, frowning.

"I only see here a… a Mrs Stein listed as the mother. And you are telling me she can't even come here to do this properly?

"I'm the father" Charles explained tersely. "My wife is unable to leave the house as yet. She was just released from the hospital recently. Can we please proceed?"

He hated pity. Pity cut him like a knife. The woman at the next desk felt pity for him and he could barely stand it. He knew he shouldn't be that tense, but the ugly, heavy whiff of "poor man, what chances does he have…" made him cringe. He focused on the director.

"Here are the documents, so please, do arrange everything as needed."

"And the tombstone?" the man asked, for some reason irritated. "Have you decided on the inscription?"

"Erik?" he reached blindly for the small piece of paper Erik had been carrying for him and unfolded it.

JEANNIE

KINROSS

He looked at it for a moment and swallowed the tears coming.

"Do you have a pen?" he turned to the lawyer, who produced one from her purse and Charles made a correction.

"Charles" Erik's voice caught in his throat. "You don't have to…"

"No, my friend. But I want to. You have been our choice for her godfather, you know. At least this way…"

"You know very well I'm not exactly the right person for that job, Charles. But - thank you."

The director watched their interaction with puzzlement and picked up the paper.

"Jeannie Nina Kinross" he read slowly. "Should I add the date?"

Charles slowly shook his head.

"Just one more thing" he took back the note with inscription. "'Beloved'. This will be… sufficient."

* * *

The funeral was simple, with just the four of them - Moira leaning on Erik's arm, Jean pushing Charles' wheelchair. The parents and the not-godparents stood quietly over the tiny coffin as the cemetery worker waited a few meters from them.

Moira crossed herself with a shaky hand and leaned on the wheelchair handles for a moment with her eyes shut and forehead on Charles' shoulder. Erik reached inside his jacket and tore at the lining on the right side, making them all shudder at the sudden ripping sound.

"Erik" Charles whispered, looking up at his friend.

"I never had a chance to do this for them" he answered, staring ahead. "It seems like an appropriate moment."

He offered his arm to Moira again and she handed the wheelchair back to Jean. The big man with a shovel approached and placed the small coffin in the equally small grave. He covered it quickly with a mound of dirt and affixed a temporary marker at one end.

" _May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified"_ Charles said slowly, before they turned back towards the car.

Erik's eyes widened and he nodded slowly in appreciation.

"They were at the top of your thoughts, my friend. I know I'm not exactly the person you'd have accompany you in this prayer, but..."

"Nobody better, Charles. Now, let's go home. We all deserve some rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case someone can't guess what it's all about - Erik performs the symbolical 'rending of garments', which in case of a non-parent's funeral would be tearing of something on the right side, like a vest lining. Despite the fact that baby X was not his actual family, he is still most certainly grieving for his own dead, and due to the way they died, he was unable to do even that simple thing at the right moment. What Charles said is the first line of Kaddish - he wouldn't be qualified to take part in the prayer, as he isn't Jewish, but he hoped it would help Erik.


	37. Levine, Explaining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for some explanations.  
> Also, a cameo appearance from another fandom. I'm pushing the timeline a bit here, but I just had to have her working with them.

"There is a man from CIA waiting for you in the front room" Ororo informed Charles the moment they stepped into the school. "He said he knows Moira and that he has _information_ and Hank let him in."

Charles pushed his dark glasses up a bit and glanced at Moira, who frowned, feeling a slight tremor of dread.

' _If Hank let him in…'_

' _It may be someone from the very old times.'_

She shrugged.

"Let's see what this is all about."

Jean helped Charles to transfer from the foldable wheelchair they used for the car into the electric one he used around the house and they followed Erik and Moira to the room from which, actually, Scott's voice spilled into the corridor.

"And I got the glasses doctor McCoy made for me, and I can finally see you!"

"That's great, my boy" Moira stiffened at the sound of that voice.

"Levine!"

"MacTaggert" he smiled, slapping Scott's shoulder at the same time. "I see you took care of the boy I dropped off - what, less than half a year ago? I didn't know at the time that you're working here, you see. I would have called you."

She looked from him to Scott, blinking.

"This is the agent that brought me in, Miss Moira. If it wasn't for him, I'd have been stuck at that station who knows how long, and someone would have taken off my bandages…"

"How did you…"

"We _are_ public now, Moira" Charles captured her hand. "It's just _you_ who is, well, hiding. You actually could stop, you know. Now that you're not stuck in the hospital and at risk."

Levine frowned, sitting down again.

"Hospital?"

"Scott, you can go to your classes" Charles said quietly. "You can see agent Levine afterwards, if you wish."

"Sure, Professor. Miss Moira, Mr Lehnsherr."

' _Jean, please go with him. Make sure he doesn't bother Alex today, I can feel there's been something going on in the morning, when we were absent.'_

' _Let me know if you need me.'_

Erik let the kids pass through the door and locked them quietly.

"I'm glad you brought Scott to us when you did, agent Levine" Charles maneuvered around the table. "He is a wonderful boy and, yes, had they taken off his bandages at the time, he could have damaged a lot, purely because of the way his mutation works. I'm very grateful you thought about us."

"Well, when they called me and said 'kid says his eyes catch fire' I kind of knew he may fit in here. I didn't have much time - my boss doesn't like me taking unauthorised trips with random orphans - so I just handed him over to one of your teachers. Had I known Moira was here, I would have made time to stay a bit more. At least the kid wouldn't have felt like a package, handed to the recipient like this."

"He was quite happy" Charles smiled. "He was very appreciative of the fact that you recognised his problem and he said he understood you didn't have time to stay and chat. Now, as you're here and I don't see any other young mutant we could help you with, _what_ is it that we can help you with?"

"Well" Levine took off his glasses and wiped them with a tissue. "It is a bit of a story, so I suppose I'd much prefer all of you to sit, if possible. I'd rather not get a crick in my neck staring up at you, Herr Lehnsherr."

Erik pulled out a chair for Moira and sat next to her, putting her between him and Charles.

"So, Levine" she leaned towards him. "What's going on?"

He fiddled with the tissue for a few seconds.

"There is a fraction at the agency that wants to get rid of you" he said finally. "I've accidentally overheard some… discussion, that I can link to the recent events in this area. And in three other places."

Moira straightened, hands suddenly cold.

"What do you mean?"

"A few months ago, just after that Apocalypse attack, you were quoted by some journalists, saying that the attack was blocked by several mutants. Still, none of the people that quoted you were willing to give up your location. The agency became… suspicious. Some higher-ups were anyway quite sure your magical disappearing trick must have been aided by some mutants, and they had already searched for you in various places - the orphanage was actually busted in connection to this - because of Scott, I found out later."

They exchanged glances.

"Because of _Scott_?"

"He has the same surname as the guy who had accompanied you to the CIA offices, so someone thought that maybe not a school, maybe an orphanage, maybe the 'Mr Summers' was younger than they expected, so they targeted the man managing the place…"

Charles choked.

"You mean, they were looking for _Moira_ there?"

"And busting a paedophile and taking the kids out of that 'home' was just a lucky byproduct. And then the guy lawyered up and they didn't know which kid was which, so before they counted them all and found out that 'Scott Summers' was missing, the Apocalypse guy happened and they had other problems."

Moira rubbed her face slowly.

"So in all this time since I handed in my resignation…"

"They were looking for you, yes. Your flat had been combed by several teams, but as of now all they found was your hairbrush behind the washing machine. I read a few reports describing the total and absolute lack of anyone else's fingerprints, except for yours."

She reached for Charles' hand and squeezed it.

"And what changed? What happened?"

"There were a few younger agents - ones who had never met you, or any of us, or, well, you" he nodded to Charles. "I've overheard them... They were sitting in one of the conference rooms and discussing some case that had a mention of potential mutant involvement. One of them commented that most of the mutants seen seem to be male, and another remarked that… well, that was quite crude, you see."

Erik glanced at Moira's frowning profile.

"What?" she asked finally.

"Well, they said that this may be the reason why they need 'human women', as he said. And then he added that…" Levine paused and looked away. "That he imagines a mutant breeding farm, with 'good clean human women' being forced… Then he added something about maybe you having been taken to such place. Because you had just _vanished_."

"ERIK" Moira caught the tiny screw that flew in a random direction. "Stop it."

"They…!"

"Yes. And they said it about _me_. Let him finish."

Levine's brow furrowed at the exchange, but then he shrugged and continued.

"It seems one of these idiots had the bright idea to escalate his suggestion up the chain of command. He used you as an example of a resource mutants may be using... And, apparently, found a sympathetic ear, which in turn started a project that culminated in the 'pulse' being sent."

"The 'pulse'?" Erik leaned towards him, voice gravelly.

"They called it that. They found a mutant child - one with very visible mutations - and calibrated the machinery on his brain. They said later that the signal cancelled out whatever in the brain was responsible for managing the mutation, and so made 'mutants' plain human again."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Levine still staring stonily out of the window and the other three trying to wrap their minds around the enormity of what they heard.

"So… the signal that killed these children…" Charles began slowly.

"Yes. It was created by the CIA. And there were three other trials, in less populated areas. They did some tests on animals first and decided that non-mutants aren't affected, so they escalated to actual inhabited areas, finally hitting your neighbourhood."

"How nice for them" Erik managed to utter.

"Well, this is what they wrote in the justification for trial run" Levine tapped the folder opened in front of them. "That it would not be harmful to the general population."

"What was the point of that whole... travesty?" Erik asked in a soft but very cold voice.

Levine took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The _official_ version was that they wanted to just cancel out mutation in everyone. They thought - if you can call it thinking - that if they start with a kid's brain, they will get some generic type of waves - don't ask me, it sounds like rubbish to me, too - and that even if it doesn't reach the adults, it will cancel the mutation in kids. Their idea was to run the pulse periodically over different areas and so... wipe the mutation."

Moira managed to catch Erik's fist before it hit the table, without even particularly looking in his direction. He snatched his hand away, but she silently caught it back and held.

"Stop it" she said very calmly. "Preserve it for later."

"They wanted to _wipe us out_ " he whispered roughly. "By eliminating the next generation. By _killing our children_."

" **Erik**."

"They didn't mean to kill them" Charles said, his voice shaky. "They just didn't understand how it works. What they hit wasn't the part of the brain that is responsible for the mutation - that makes a mutant what he or she is."

Levine looked at him with dread.

"What do you mean?"

Moira looked at both of the mutants on her sides, Charles barely keeping his shivering under control and Erik becoming more and more like a coiled spring was not a situation she could easily manage. She had to keep both of them calmed down.

"The mutation isn't in the brain" she said slowly. "It's everywhere. Whole body. DNA, it determines which part is actually _acting_. The _control_ is what is in the brain. That's why it killed and injured so many" she had to stop to regain balance. "If you see the mutation as an engine and the controlling element as the steering wheel - they removed the steering wheel mid-drive for some. And their mutations went crazy. Some, who aren't actively using theirs, just weren't affected, because their brains weren't on the same wavelength. The ones who are actually _living_ with their mutation constantly - like that kid with the gills, or, or..."

"Or Raven" Charles said weakly.

"Or Raven" she nodded, rubbing his shaking wrist with her fingertips "they were hit the worst - their whole control goes into their movement or, sometimes, basic functions. Like, breathing."

"But the children...?" Levine frowned and looked at Erik's white-knuckled fists, now covered by Moira's hand.

"Their brains are not yet formed in the same way grownup brains are. Some kids lose their control when their mutation expresses for the first time - some die, if the mutation is life-threatening in some way - but this signal, it made _all_ of them lose control, which caused, as far as we can say, brain hemorrhages" she said slowly. "And so killed all of them. If it was run on bigger areas, or in places with denser population, I can't even imagine the fallout."

"They targeted us" Charles was hyperventilating. "They hit the school specifically. They knew we have children here. They wanted to affect children here. To cancel their mutation. That could have killed them - if we had one of the more feral kids, or one of the flying ones..."

"Actually" Erik said slowly. "That's the official version. The _fact_ is, if we had _any_ children on the premises, they would have been killed. No matter what mutation. If we had, for example, daycare, we could have ended with a whole group of..."

Moira shivered and pressed a hand to her abdomen.

"So, what they did" she said in as even a tone as she could manage "was to take a kid, read his brainwaves and replicate them - in reverse - then produce a machine that would emit these... and sent a pulse of it at four places in the country. Right?"

Levine nodded woodenly.

"And none of them had ever actually worked with mutants? Or asked someone like you for consultation?"

He nodded again.

"And what happened after they fired their wonder toy?"

Levine gritted his teeth.

" _Someone_ noted the child mortality stats" he said finally. "And pointed it out to their superiors that all they managed was to murder some children who had never... well, that if there is such a thing as a 'good method' of dealing with 'mutant problem', killing pre-schoolers definitely isn't it. And the whole thing was shut down a day later. The men responsible found themselves reassigned to the Canadian border" he smirked "the one with Alaska. Separately. And their case is now under investigation by the FBI."

Moira grimaced.

"What would be needed to follow this through?"

He shrugged.

"No idea. Parents don't really _know_ their children died due to these cretins being given free reign in a large lab. I can't realistically go door to door and ask these same parents to allow me to exhume their children in order to build a case against people from my own agency. I'd need a court order and would probably be shut down the moment I started talking."

"And what if you had parents, who are willing and consenting? If you had a specific case of a person affected by their actions?"

"Moira" Erik managed to cut in before Charles even caught his breath. "You can't."

"Why not?" she asked shakily. "Why not, actually? I'm a trained biologist, I have a bloody PhD in genetics and I _am_ willing and consenting. And I _am_ quite ready to skin these bastards _alive_ if needed."

Levine looked at her with wide eyes.

"Moira? What is going on?"

Charles caught her hand and drew her face to his.

"Love. Please, listen to me. Can you imagine what that would mean?"

She nodded slowly.

"We'd have to exhume her" she said softly. "We'd have to go public. I'd have to testify, and my amnesia would be called a potential reason for dismissal. I'd have to undergo examination and probably have to go off my medication for a period. But, Charles" she caressed his cheek. "I'm willing to do that. If there is no other way to destroy them, I'll spend the rest of my days retelling our story."

"But..."

"I'll be a strong witness. And a material proof, in one. I have the right education and my previous job gave me quite a training in law. I _think_ I can use all my varied skills in this case."

"Moira, what are you talking about?" Levine finally managed to interrupt them.

"We _did_ have a child at the school" she said not looking at him, but keeping eye contact with Charles. " _Ours_. I can be the parent who _knows_ what happened to their child. I wonder what CIA will say to that."

* * *

The young, wide-eyed agent they were assigned was supposedly a highly reputable medical professional. It wasn't that Moira felt that FBI wasn't treating them altogether seriously, but the moment she heard their "contact" being addressed as "darling" she felt a bit like she had just travelled back in time.

The young doctor rolled her eyes at the retreating back of the senior agent and smiled at them slightly nervously.

"Dana Scully. _Junior Agent_ Dana Scully" she introduced herself. "Please, follow me. My office is at the end of that corridor."

Erik pushed Charles' wheelchair, while Moira slowly followed, using one of the handles added to the chair as an unobtrusive support.

The corridor seemed abandoned, but clean, and the office they finally entered was filled to the brim with files in various boxes and folders.

"Please sit. I would need to ask you some questions - probably they will overlap partly with what they asked you for upstairs" she grimaced "but the red tape is even more sacred in this building than anywhere else, so it will be actually faster for me to gather all this information myself than to wait for the previous interview to be copied for me."

Erik pushed the wheelchair closer and then carefully helped Moira sit in the more stable of available chairs, next to Charles. He took the place on her other side, looking at the young doctor intently. She seemed to lose her track as he stared at her in the way that always made strangers uncomfortable. Moira reached out and covered his tightly clasped hands with her cold fingers. A small sound made him relax minutely.

"Agent Scully" she smiled to the younger woman. "I'm not sure we were properly introduced, but maybe you have our names in your files... somewhere" she smiled at the small mound of folders just in front of them. "My name is Moira Xavier" she felt the small surge of pride coming from her husband's direction. "But just a few years ago I was known as _agent_ Moira MacTaggert, so if you care, you can search for my details later. This" she touched Charles' shoulder "is my husband, professor Charles Xavier" another surge of pride "and this is our associate, Erik Lehnsherr."

"Ah" agent Scully let the tiny exclamation escape her. "I know _that_ name."

Erik bristled.

"Yes, you would" Moira said calmly, squeezing slightly Erik's fingers. "Now, I understand you are the medical examiner who will be..."

"Working on your case" Scully provided quickly. "Yes. I will be gathering all the information regarding the medical side of..."

"Yes" Charles leaned a bit forward, catching Moira's free hand. "I wanted to offer - one of our teachers is a medical doctor, and should you wish, he could assist you - not interfering with the autopsy, but just... being there, in case there is something specific that would be impossible to explain in standard circumstances."

"Meaning the potential differences in mutant physiology?" Scully frowned. "If he could, I'd be grateful, but I'll be performing the actual autopsy and analysing the samples. I can't allow external influence in this."

Moira nodded.

"Of course. We wouldn't want to jeopardise the whole case. However as we _don't know_ what may potentially be found... Hank may be invaluable. He had been working with various types of mutations for the last fifteen years."

Agent Scully's eyelashes fluttered and Moira could only think of her as _adorable_ , which earned her a mental chuckle from Charles.

"Hank is waiting for us in the lobby - we didn't want to bring him in, in order to avoid putting additional pressure on you" she explained. "Now, about these questions?"

* * *

Scully called them in three days to report her findings - and to share some frustration with her superiors with Moira.

"They are saying it's completely useless" she said, grinding her teeth. "Because apparently we don't have enough evidence that the child is actually _yours_. Because the gene panels don't match. As if they actually had machinery to do this."

"Well, Hank does" Moira sighed. "And yes, they don't match, because since then I've been undergoing a treatment due to the blood contamination. I have no idea how they could get the results, but we can't produce any that would say anything different."

"I think at least part of what they are saying is because they really don't like me talking about 'physiologically correct pregnancy'" Scully added morosely. "And they wince every time I mention anything regarding miscarriage. Oh, God, I'm sorry..."

"No, no" Moira sighed. "Remember, I'm a biologist. I can take it."

"Well, then. One of the Very Important And Educated men tried to make a case that your miscarriage had nothing to do with the 'pulse' being run. Another thought that it may have had, but because you were in close proximity to multiple mutants who may have caused it due to their abilities..."

" _Really_?" Moira slumped in her chair. "Because I was the only woman pregnant with a mutant in the area affected, they will not admit there is a link?"

"More or less, yes. You are statistically insignificant. Yes, you could sue the CIA, because, now that you actually officially _know_ , you can try a civil suit against a government agency. But otherwise, my findings are going to be buried in some little room in FBI basement. On the other hand, I have slightly better news about the CIA agents directly responsible for the whole thing. They have been found guilty of criminal negligence in preparing a publicly-applied experimental machinery. There are multiple confirmed non-mutants reporting with various types of illnesses, very strictly geographically limited to the areas the test was performed on."

"So... because now they found out it's affecting general population too, and not only mutants..."

"It is easier to push for proper verdict, yes. I know it's not what you wanted, but it is all we're going to get."

_Erik's going to be furious. Dammit._

"Thank you, Agent Scully" she said after a pause. "I just hope taking part in this case didn't jeopardise your future at the Bureau..."

"Well" Scully sounded like she was smirking. "Let's say that I'll make sure to stay here long enough for this boy's club upstairs to be properly shaken up. One day, when I'm a senior agent and have appropriate support, they won't even know what hit them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What now? How are they going to pick up their lives?
> 
> How will this affect Scully's future work in FBI? (I'm thinking of writing a 1-scene equivalent of 1st episode for her)


	38. Moira, Surviving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, and then just the epilogue, which I will post tomorrow.

She wasn't sure anymore what to do with herself. Grief was one of the major emotions, but she felt more and more distanced to it. Obviously, each of them grieved in a different way, and for a different reason, but sometimes she felt incomplete - or even missing some basic human function - looking at how Charles and Erik processed things. She felt slightly guilty of being able to move on earlier than they could, but, on the other hand, maybe it was simply her turn to be the strong one of their little set. She knew she grounded them both, in a way - they gravitated to her, looking for contact and confirmation that she was fine, even if their words said something else.

She knew that part of the distance she put between the past three months and her emotions was the sheer amount of work to be done - starting from making Erik stop muttering things about FBI and CIA whenever he looked at her and up to making sure Jean and Peter were _not_ actually doing what she thought they _may_ be doing.

What threw her the most were the changes in school dynamics. New children - who knew _her_ while she didn't know _them_. New staff, including the Canadian who mostly communicated using nods and grunts. New senior students, specifically Ororo.

And all the new connections between people that she traced with fascination. The way Scott and Alex mostly stayed in the same area, but also gravitated towards Jean (more Scott than Alex). The way sometimes Peter seemed to grin at Jean - the same thin grin she knew so well from his father's face - and then they were seemingly only sitting in the garden, but for some reason eating ice-cream that had definitely _not_ been taken from the kitchen fridge. The way Kurt trained with Logan, which was a scary thing to watch, but also quite interesting.

And Raven, at last up and, once her healing factor finally kicked in, in control of herself, again training the X-MEN. The slight pull between Raven and Hank didn't go unnoticed and Alex had taken to making fun of the scientist for that. Moira decided to allow it, unless it became a pronounced problem - Hank needed normal, safe human interaction, and Alex became much more subtle in his jokes ever since his close brush with death. Or maybe it was just a bit of whatever he was hiding from Scott that was influencing his behaviour in the long run.

She didn't really feel like she was doing something very important. There were things that needed to be done, so she did them, day by day. Trying not to focus overly on the day Agent Scully delivered the small box back to them and they went to the cemetery, yet again. Not to focus on the way Hank looked at her and Charles whenever someone mentioned children. Not to focus on Erik's grief, which was as obvious as a bleeding wound.

Every time her thoughts run in the wrong direction she had to stop for a moment and think of the future. Future which seemed to be somewhat promising, actually. Future with all their friends around them - and probably more coming. Future with the absolutely marvellous accidental outcome of Erik's and Charles' idiotic idea for making Charles look as if he was walking - putting metal bracelets around key points of Charles' body and having Erik pull him up.

"You are both crazy, you know?" Hank shook his head, looking at Charles' feet. "You never told me you were planning this, you might have damaged his spine!"

"I already _have_ a damaged spine, Hank. We kind of didn't want to bother you, in case this didn't work."

Moira sat on the chair put in Hank's lab especially for her for that incredible trial.

"So, when you picked him up, something moved... and connected."

"But it stays so only as long as he's standing" Erik shrugged. "I can keep him up for minutes at a time, but not indefinitely, and I have to know where he's going. But, in simple words, as long as I can keep him up, he can walk."

"Does this mean that if you pick him up, Hank could identify the spot in his spine and actually do something about it? Because the... treatment that they were trying before, it worked, if temporarily."

Charles had finally come mostly clean about the state in which he had spent the beginning of the previous decade and she had been shaken to the core with his explanation of his state of mind. She had already known - from what he and Hank had let slip - that the time hadn't been the best and that they had something to do with the assassination attempt, but she hadn't known the exact details. Now that she learnt all about it, there was a firm resolution in her heart that neither Charles nor Erik would ever be left unsupervised long enough for them to develop a new, innovative approach to suicidal tendencies.

Hank glared at Charles with something akin to reproach, but his boss was ignoring him, still watching his toes. Moving them.

"OK, I'm getting a bit tired of keeping you up like this. Bed, or chair, Hank?"

"Bed, for first round of scans. And we're going for an MRI next, Charles. I must see what is going on inside you."

"You sound like a fifthgrader with a new frog, Hank" Erik snorted. "Ok, bed for you, headmaster."

He levitated Charles towards the cot, over which Hank had already placed several different lamps, sensors and scanners. Charles sighed with resignation as Hank's next move was to stick numerous sensor pads on his skin, all along his spine, down his left leg and around his head.

"One word about lab rats, Erik, and I'll make sure you spend next week convinced you're a five-year old girl."

"You're still adorable."

Moira smothered a snort and watched as Hank switched settings on the huge cabinet of a computer that all the sensors were connected to.

"This will tell us which of your nervous pathways exactly are connected" he explained between tweaks of the small knobs on something eerily similar to large sound console. "I need to identify which ones are working now and which will start connecting once Erik brings you up again. Now, this may tickle, like a small charge..." he threw a tiny switch.

Charles went rigid.

_Hurts._

His message was powerful enough to cause some commotion upstairs.

"Damn" Hank switched the power off again.

"That wasn't a bloody tickle!" Charles managed to gasp finally. "That felt like a wire brush stuck directly in my nerves. I think I actually felt all my teeth move in my jaw. God, what was that?"

"That was a proof that your spine is, in fact, in quite good condition. It may not be sending all the impulses correctly, and because you've been sitting in the wheelchair for the last ten years or so, since the last time we tried to get you walking..."

"I probably did some more damage to that part" Charles rubbed his eyes. "Fine. What now?"

Moira made a small sound.

"Love?"

"Your toes" she pointed out finally. "Try moving them again."

He raised himself on both elbows to look down his body, to the part he didn't really like to watch - his bone-thin legs. His toes were, in fact, moving. Only the left foot, but still.

"Seriously? That's what it took? Some time being held up by Erik and a bit of electricity?" Moira stood up and leaned over Charles, looking at him with incredulity. "I mean, what the hell _did_ you do the previous time round? I remember that you had some PT scheduled just before... well... and we weny to several doctors just before..." she trailed off as Charles and Hank exchanged glances. " _Charles Francis Xavier_ , have you stopped your therapy after you... Really, _Charles_ , you are the most irresponsible, idiotic... I don't even know. I'm not sure I..." she breathed deeply. "Oh, God. No. I can't. Sorry."

* * *

The garden outside was quiet, the middle of the day leaving it free of all children. There was no P.E. lesson going on, and even the workshop by the garage seemed to be deserted. She walked down the path to the small pond and finally sat on the thick grass, hugging her knees and rocking slightly to and fro.

_Because really, the most imbecilic thing!_

She gasped and held her breath in an attempt to stop her tears.

_Idiot!_

_'Miss Moira?'_

_'Sorry, Jean. I'll try to be quieter.'_

_'Is there a problem?'_

_'No, dear. At least not one you can help with at the moment.'_

_A quick assent/suspicion from Jean._

_'Pay attention to your trigonometry class, dear.'_

She felt a bit guilty about alarming the young telepath, but her shaky control was apparently blown to nothing once she got agitated and she leaked more than normally. At least the quick exchange with Jean made her relax a bit and slowed her breathing. Unfortunately that made the tears flow and soon she was shaking not of anger, but with sobs.

_God, I must look like a mess. I just hope no children come to the garden anytime soon, or they will be even more worried than before. How_ _**could** _ _he!? How the hell could he just... let this stay like this? Boys with their bloody toys, playing with powers of the universe, unable to keep their doctor's appointments! They don't need me, they need a kindergarten teacher! Or a bloody caretaker! Housekeeper! And a secretary, each!_

Suddenly there was a warm body behind hers and a pair of long-fingered hands started quietly kneading her stone-hard shoulders.

"You scared him, Moira."

"I hope so. I bloody hope so."

"He's afraid he's going to lose you, every day."

"If he continues like this, I can't guarantee anything" she snapped, but rolled her head obediently as he moved to her neck.

"He needs you."

"He needs _you_ , the teachers and the kids. I'm just a nice addition. He doesn't care enough to take proper care of himself...!"

His fingers found a knot at the base of her skull and applied pressure with skill showing long practice.

"He told Hank he would undergo the old treatment, you know. Just for you."

She frowned and tried looking up at him, but he pressed her again to lean on her knees and continued the localised massage.

"Do you know that there is a study saying women should have their shoulders massaged at least once a week, achieving total relaxation of that area, to avoid spine problems at later age? Apparently there is a difference in this area between genders."

"Erik, stop trying to distract me with science. What do you mean, the old treatment? The one he tried in the seventies? Hank wasn't happy when I asked him about it some time ago."

"Hank was unhappy because the treatment is probably a part of why Charles was so depressed - he isn't sure, actually, because there were several factors playing a role - but Hank doesn't have very good recollections from that time. Neither do I, to tell you the truth. It was a rather bizarre time, these few days I spent with them..." he paused and worked on a particularly bad spot, making her gasp in pain for a few seconds and then slump in relief. "Now, he declared that if that is what it takes, he wants Hank to review the specs for the serum they used at the time, and he will keep away from all potentially interfering substances."

"God..." she moaned, covering her face.

He worked steadily on her shoulderblades.

"He wants you to have everything he can give you. And since Hank told him the problem is with the X-gene..."

She straightened and turned to Erik, eyes wide and wild.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He blanched.

"I thought Charles had..."

"Erik. What. The. Hell."

Apparently even red-faced and puffy-eyed from crying, hair in disarray and in her everyday cotton blouse and high-waisted skirt she looked terrifying enough to scare a grownup mutant, because the next thing she saw was Erik trying to crawl away from her on his back. She caught his ankle and held him in place, applying sufficient pressure to hear him hiss.

"What are you talking about?"

"Hell, Moira. He should have told you himself! Sorry I mentioned this, I thought you knew!"

"Knew. What?"

"Love, could you please let Erik go?" Charles' voice was tired and he leaned on the armrests of his chair heavily. "He won't tell you, because we... I wanted to talk to you about it first, I just... couldn't find the right moment. I thought maybe I could wait a bit, we still had some time... Also, you may, quite possibly, damage him, you know. We can't afford a replacement German teacher at the moment. And this one has been a bit queasy about hospitals recently."

She loosened her grasp and Erik pulled his leg up to himself, trying to massage the sore spot unobtrusively.

"I'm not sure I can bear talking to you right now" she said, swallowing the 'you irresponsible idiot' bravely.

"I know" he was suddenly right beside her, slipping off the chair and onto the grass below it. "But I think you'll need to, anyway. Come, love" he pulled her a bit closer and, despite her slight resistance, pushed her head to lie on a small pillow - probably taken from the lab cot - he had placed on his thighs.

"How did you know you'll need a pillow?" she asked, belligerently.

"I kind of guessed, when I felt where Erik found you."

"You could have just checked where I _was_."

He ran his fingers through her hair, picking up a blade of grass stuck there.

"No, actually, I couldn't" he said sadly. "You were... I don't want to hurt your brain. It's been damaged too many times, and I'd much rather not add to it - anymore" he combed her hair slowly with his hand, his fingers cool against her hot, red-splotched cheek and neck. "We need to talk, I'm afraid, and I don't know where to start. You see, I... Did I tell you what Alex gave me, when you came back?"

She shrugged and tried to shake her head, but it wasn't really a gesture to make in such a position.

"He gave me 'Summer's Guide to Grovelling'."

"What?"

"He printed it on a piece of paper, like a greeting card - or instruction booklet. It was pretty simple, actually, but I'm afraid it will take me a while to internalise the contents properly. It annoyed me immensely, actually, the idea that Alex Summers is giving me relationship advice. In retrospective, he was much wiser than I could pretend to be, at least in that regard" he combed the hair away from her face and ran his fingers slowly from her temple down to her neck. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't want to disturb whatever peace we had achieved recently by talking to you about this... I chickened out, I'm afraid. So, I'm sorry that I didn't man up in time."

"Charles, if you don't get to a point, a slightly damaged German teacher is going to be the least of your worries."

He sighed.

"Come, love" he placed his fingers on her temple and leaned back, against the side of his chair. "This way it is safer than from a distance, and I can cushion you against any further injury."

_The corridor of the mansion seemed unnaturally quiet and empty. It was also slightly wobbly under her feet and she had to put a hand against the wall to catch her balance. His hold on her helped her to regain proper upright position._

_He was standing, shoulders straight, hair tied neatly away from his face with a thin, black ribbon. One hand around her waist, the other uncertainly straightening his light jacket._

_"Charles? What is this?"_

_"This is home, love. This is my... they called the construct 'the mind palace'. So, this is mine. The safe ground, in case of telepathical communication - or conflict. Not always one hundred percent proof, as the last battle showed, but definitely better place than anywhere else."_

_"And you're walking."_

_"That's part of the construct. I created it back when I was still... well. And it stays like this. Which proves, among other things, that I never actually adjusted to the chair fully. Or, that's my guess at least."_

_"Not to mention the hair" she touched his cheek and ran her fingers down to the back of his head. "It is a bit weird, after all these weeks, you know."_

_"Well" he shrugged and touched his ponytail. "I've had more time than you and I'm still not used to not having it. Every time I put on a shirt, I have that reflex to pull the ends from the collar" he glanced around and grinned. "Maybe we could go upstairs? I don't think corridor is the best place to talk about this."_

_"I don't really care where" she rubbed her face. "I need to understand_ _**what** _ _it is that you're so scared of."_

_He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned towards her, touching his forehead to hers._

_"I will. I just need... I need to find the right way."_

_"We're in your thoughts, Charles. You can just show me, you know."_

_He looked away from her._

_"I... Oh, blast it."_

_She found herself hoisted up in the air, landing held bridal-style in his arms._

_"Why waste a perfectly good mind palace" he smiled wickedly. "I can't do it in real world, but I think we deserve this once..."_

_"Charles!"_

_He walked briskly up the stairs, towards their room, opening the door in front of them with a gesture. Once inside, he deposited her on the sofa - that sofa - and sat next to her, pulling her into his lap._

_"Moira, there is... But please, wait until the end, love. Hank found out that we shouldn't try having any more children. At least not... not ones that have a potential of being mutants."_

_She pushed herself slightly away from him._

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Your body... it's like with the RH conflict, as far as he explained it. The fact that..."_

_"Jeannie."_

_"...Jeannie was a potentially very powerful telepath - that she actually was active from before birth - meant that she had all the X-gene markers active. For whatever reason, that means that your body is now, in a manner of speaking, allergic or, well, in constant state of immunological reaction to the X-gene. Should you ever be pregnant again, and the child also carried the X-gene, it would mean either another miscarriage, or repetition from what happened this time. Your body would be actively fighting the intrusion of, no better way to say it, alien DNA. This could cause any number of effects, none of them beneficial to you or the foetus."_

_She sat silent for a moment, listening to his breathing - even in this strange, non-world of his mind mansion, they still had heartbeat and breath._

_"We can't have children" she said finally, trying the fact out for herself. "We can't. Not anymore."_

_"That's..."_

_"Because some idiots from CIA wanted to run an experiment. They not only_ _**killed** _ _our daughter. They took away..." she paused and had to lean into him again. "I'm so sorry, Charles. You've been alone with this all this time..."_

_"Not that alone" he rubbed her shoulder with his thumb. "Erik was there when Hank told me. They were actually expecting me to tell you almost the moment you were cleared for 'light duty'. But I couldn't. I didn't want to. I wanted us to have some peace, at least. I-" he paused. "I was afraid you'd hate me."_

_She pushed his chin up, forcing him to look at her. "I would never hate you for telling me the truth" she said slowly. "You know how much I detest secrets and unclear allusions. I'd rather have plain unvarnished truth every day, even if it hurts. It's healthier in the long run."_

_"But it was all my fault" he protested weakly. "It's my DNA that had screwed up your health - probably forever. It is my DNA that can't ever be..." he shook his head._

_"Well, the fact that your DNA was a part of our child is definitely not solely your fault, love" she pressed her lips against his for a breath. "I certainly took part in that decision."_

_He kissed her lightly back._

_"And I will be eternally grateful for this. But, in any case, if you had not been at the school - or, or pregnant, none of this would have happened!" he started sounding desperate. "It was selfish of me, irresponsible and selfish, to keep you here. I need your presence, I crave your nearness, but this has only exposed you to more risk and put you where you had almost died!"_

_"_ _**Charles** _ _" she pressed her fingers to his lips in admonishing gesture. "Stop it. I never wanted to be anywhere else. Risk and everything. I'm_ _**here** _ _, with you. It's not like I can choose to be with you, but pick only the times when it's safe and nice."_

_"But you were_ _**supposed** _ _to be safe!" he whispered fiercely, kissing her temple and up, her hair, her forehead. "You were supposed to be safe, secure against whoever was looking for you, against CIA or alien monsters from the Moon. And I failed!"_

_"Charles, you idiot" she pulled slightly back and held his head in her strong hands, not allowing herself to draw her fingers through his - now slightly disheveled - mane. This used to be a major point in her fantasies of him, but now she had to keep it together..._

_"So you don't fantasise about me as I am now?" he pouted slightly._

_"Is there no such thing as a private thought anymore?" she blushed and send a tiny tendril of exasperation towards him._

_"Not here, I'm afraid, not between us. But, I am an idiot. Please continue."_

_"What I meant, Charles, is that you are not responsible for_ _**everything** _ _that happens to us. You didn't cause the CIA to collectively lose their reason and run that idiotic experiment. You couldn't have stopped them, had you even known about it beforehand. You aren't guilty of anything except for, maybe, keeping this one thing from me. And being stupid about your PT twenty years ago."_

_He pulled her a bit higher, allowing his head to rest on her shoulder._

_"I'm a coward" he said finally. "I'm a bloody coward."_

_"You didn't want to add to my worries" she countered. "I understand that. But I could have lived with the truth, you know. And now I managed to scare poor Erik, just because you, my brilliant telepath, had a problem with communicating."_

_"Poor Erik" he snickered. "Poor Erik is as scared of you as a cat is scared of a bowl of cream" he breathed into her ear. "Sometimes I watch the two of you and it's_ _**eating** _ _me inside, love. Imagining how he could give you all the things I can't."_

_"Charles, have you suddenly lost your mind? Scratch that, considering that we're sitting in your_ _**mind** _ _palace, I'm not sure I'm ready for a confirmation here. Are you actually..."_

_"That kiss, love" he pointed out sadly. "That kiss from the hospital. You can't tell me it was something that happens between casual acquaintances."_

_She groaned._

_"I could blame it on the morphine, but that's not a good explanation."_

_"No, it is not. You can imagine what_ _**I** _ _was imagining once he delivered your message."_

_"Not really" she admitted. "Because from the moment he left the hospital that day I was in constant state of 'what the fuck were you thinking, Moira'. I wasn't able to think about much more, until the two of you showed up."_

_He frowned._

_"So... do you regret doing this? Because I'm afraid the whole situation becomes more complicated then..."_

_"Absolutely no" she stated immediately. "I'm afraid it will be complicated anyway, but at least not because of this. I love_ _**you** _ _, but Erik..."_

_He held her closer._

_"I know" he said softly. "This will not be easy. For either of us. Or for the others to accept."_

_She wound her hands behind his head._

_"Nothing ever is, love" she said against his lips. "But if you're willing to..."_

_"Anything that makes you" he punctuated it with a small, light kiss "happy."_

_She shivered._

_"Anything?"_

_He nodded slowly._

_"Then tell me about the treatment that Erik was talking about."_

_He rolled his head back, mumbling something angrily._

_"Charles?"_

_"It's that treatment I told you about already, the one Hank designed thirteen years ago. It makes the spinal nerves grow back - partially at least - and reconnects the pieces. The downside - or, I thought at the time, happy side effect - is loss of my powers. I found suddenly I didn't have to keep my guard up all the time. I could sleep without risking everyone in ten mile radius waking up due to my nightmares. I could rest, not hearing everyone in that same radius. I could finally be alone in my own brain. And it was driving me slowly crazy, which I carefully ignored."_

_"What does that have to do with the X-gene?" she asked when he paused for a longer moment._

_"It modified my DNA" he answered with a grimace. "It removed the X-factor from my genetic makeup."_

_"So, it worked slightly like what Hank is using on himself?"_

_"Yes, but his version is focused on the external expression of his mutation, and planned to be temporary. The treatment we were trying on me had the primary objective of re-growing the nerve tissue, but due to limited options of source material it turned out I lose my powers for however long it is working. Also, the nerves built with the treatment die almost immediately once I stop taking the shots."_

_"And what..." she sighed. "I see. You wanted to take enough of it to make sure your system would be free of the X-gene and so..."_

_He half-shrugged._

_"That would be up to you, actually. Should you wish to try again. At some point."_

_She pulled his face to hers and kissed him, slowly and methodically, combing her hands through his hair - finally! - scratching his scalp with her manicured nails and running them down towards the base of his scull, making him shiver and moan against her lips._

_"I love you" she said finally. "And I forbid you to ever, absolutely ever, use that treatment. I wouldn't survive losing you,_ _**you** _ _, as you are. Don't ever try to use it for my sake."_

_"But... what then?" he asked helplessly, combing his hair away in a nervous gesture. "I thought you wanted..."_

_"I did. And I do. But I will not pay for the possibility by you cutting yourself away from your abilities, love. I can't afford this. We will survive somehow. We'll always have each other, and our friends."_

_"But, should you ever think about..."_

_She kissed him into silence._

_"Never. I will never ask you to sacrifice who you are just for my sake. You are Charles. You are exactly what you are, no more, no less. I won't have you injuring yourself for me."_

_He inhales slowly._

_"Love, I... I think we must go back now."_

_"I suppose so" she pressed her lips to his temple. "But can we stay here, just for a moment..."_

_"I'm afraid not" he grimaced. "I'm afraid Raven and Erik are panicking. We went a bit too deep and we might have stopped breathing."_

Her eyes flew open and she took a long, laboured breath.

"Charles, you bloody idiot!" Raven was shaking her brother, who had just made a similar sound as Moira. "If you die, I'll kill you! Then I'll find a mutant who can resurrect people and then I'll kill you again!"

"Raven, darling, you are making no sense" he remarked weakly. "But thank you for the sentiment."

Moira found herself the object of Erik's searching gaze as he knelt, poised over her, hands obviously ready for another round of chest compressions.

"I'm fine" she said softly, reaching for his hand, but stopping at the last moment. "We're fine. I'm..."

His hands hit the grass on both sides of her head and he breathed with effort. "Don't you ever dare do this again" he said, a slight growl leaking into his tone. "Ever. You are both... Just, don't."

She sat up slowly, feeling incredibly light-headed, and cautiously patted his shoulder.

"We won't. I promise. It was... Not a mistake, in itself. But we shouldn't have stayed so long. We won't do it again" she turned to where Raven was now rather hysterically crying in Charles' arms. "We needed to talk and Charles thought this would be easier for both of us. How long were we out?"

She watched Erik's face twitch as he slowly sat down next to her.

"I managed to go through one cycle of CPR on you, so at least half a minute" he said finally, his voice dry. "I only noticed that there was something wrong when Charles fell back in such a limp way, almost hitting his head on the wheel. Raven was here like a second later and she helped me to pull you two apart, then started heart massage on him. So, I..."

"Thank you" she leaned towards him and pressed her lips to his clean-shaved cheek. "You _are_ my knight in a shining armour, Erik" her breath ghosted over his skin and she pressed another, lips lingering for a heartbeat or two.

"Moira!" he seemed to be choking. "I... What... What will...!"

"What will Charles say?" came from behind Erik and she moved slightly away and a bit forward just in time to see her husband pull himself up on the grass to sit on Erik's other side, have him pick up her hand and press a kiss to her palm. "I'll say she is quite correct, my friend" he smiled sadly at Erik's stony profile, but his gaze fell to their clasped hands and he sighed. "We've both been too reckless today, all things considered. And you have been more than patient with two such irresponsible fools. So, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry we've frightened you."

Watching Erik's face cautiously, Moira leaned her body slightly closer to his, still keeping her hand tightly clasped with Charles'.

"M- Moira..."

"Shh" she caressed his cheek softly with her lips. "It will all be fine. We will never scare you like this again. I promise. _We_ promise. You will not lose us, Erik. You are not losing anyone ever again, if we can help it. We are here. For you. _Both of us_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still nervous - did I do them justice? Are they very much out of character, or do they sound like themselves?


	39. Just Being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the epilogue. Thanks to everyone who stayed that long. Let me know what you think :)
> 
> The scene I'm referring in this part (and also way earlier in the story) is the scene 3 of this set: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C2vu6Cug97g (from 1:23)

In the end, it is Moira who gets Alex the therapy he needs to get over his multiple, layered issues, from fear of sun to his irrational anxiety about Scott's wellbeing. After that, she scolds Charles for overlooking the needs of his "faithful lieutenant", as Moira calls him, and Charles agrees.

* * *

And it is Charles who has a terribly mortifying talk with Peter regarding Jean and destructive tendencies and just maybe, possibly, making sure there were no direct consequences of what the two got up to in the secluded parts of the garden. And Erik asks Jean very kindly to please not damage his son too much, because as far as he knows, he had only one and he had not managed to bond with him properly yet.

* * *

And it turns out, Scott, despite his brother's predictions, doesn't end up completely friendzoned by Jean, because Peter is, after all, Erik's son, and his heart is probably just as big. And Jean is definitely woman enough for the two of them.

* * *

Hank spends uncounted hours in his laboratory, only sometimes bothered by Raven's interruptions, and the final outcome is rather ingenuous, if he dares to say so himself.

Also, he finally gives up on taking his shots daily, unless Raven specifically requests his old face. Which she does, from time to time, when she is in the mood for some kink-tinted seducing of the sweet, innocent doctor McCoy.

* * *

The day Charles finally walks on his own legs without crutches, Erik's support or a long electricity aided session is celebrated by a prolonged trip around the gardens with Moira.

And in the evening, they stand in the darkened doorway to their library and he tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"It is very beautiful, you know" he says quietly.

"What?" she asks in the knowing, breathless way

"The mutated MCR1 gene…"

"Moira, for heaven's sake, kiss him and get him to sit down before he falls" Erik grumbles from the sofa, arranging the pillows and a heap of blankets just so.

Because after all that had happened, Moira always is slightly cold. That is why she needs to be held by _both_ of them in order to sleep safely.


	40. Timeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A timeline of events, to make it easier to track what happened when :)

To make it a bit easier (and in case I didn't indicate the actual order of things happening clearly), this is more or less how it went (italics for canon):

_XMFC_

_(Charles takes away Moira's memories)_

_XMDOFP_

Sometime here they both start having headaches

Unspecified moment: Alex shows up

Unspecified moment: Moira comes back to the school

Moira visits CIA to request a prolonger unpaid leave

Three months later: Sean comes back from Canada

Over the next 2-3 years: various students arrive, including Jean

Moira and Alex go to CIA to hand in her resignation; Jean and Marcia pack Moira's flat

Charles proposes

Month before Apocalypse: Scott is brought in;

_XMA_ (But: Sean isn't at the school, so he isn't taken; Alex survives the blast; Charles finds out about pregnancy)

Moira stops Erik from leaving

M&C get married

Three months after XMA, the "pulse" attack

Moira's heart stops

Jean accidentally lets Erik know that Peter is his son

Moira's heart stops for the second time, surgery

Conversation about Moira's superpowers

Three weeks after "pulse", Moira wakes up

1 day after: Erik tells her what happened

2 days after: M&E talk about details

3 days after: Erik brings her the bag

Peter and Erik have a conversation sometime after she wakes

several days: M&E work out the communication and talk about random stuff

2 weeks after: Moira has first PT and asthma attack

2,5w: she takes the mask off; kisses Erik; Erik passes her "message" to others; whole evening in the school; Raven has a talk with Hank

3w: Moira is released from the hospital; ride back home; panic attack; coming to the school; Raven comforts Hank and gets him to sleep

Next day: Moira talks to Charles and finds out they are married actually

+4 days: Moira released by Hank

4w: Erik asks Moira for the decision about the names; Erik and Charles go to the funeral home

+2 days: Funeral; Levine comes

Visit to FBI; investigation;

Last two chapters, in unclear amount of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... is it any clearer now? :) What do you feel about the whole story?


End file.
